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probablyhuntersmom · 10 months

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Ok, I was told about this.

emerald-entrails-hunter,

I'm gonna show a total of four screenshots in this post, and I don't wanna force what people think of me or twist any narratives. You readers can decide 😔 It would be good though, if readers have a look at both her post and this one that I have written. Before deciding what kind of person I am.

After the first boundary you put up in September, I still sent you an absolutely insensitive ask shortly after you ended things on Discord, and I wrote a physical letter to send to you. In both, not only I did not give a proper apology, but I violated your boundary of "Do not contact me again". In no way am I justifying what I did but, I was desperate to try and get us to reconcile, even if it was executed so poorly. And re: the matter that even led up to the end of our friendship to begin with.....I was cowardly. I am so sorry for my hurtful behaviour in that situation too. For all this, I am truly sorry. 😔

And I know that people have varying opinions about vagueposting. But like, if people see my vagueposts, wasn't that a conscious choice they made to seek out my vagueposts, policing what I put up?

Look. Even putting up this post, is terrifying to me. But to quote you, I to a degree also need to stand up for myself here, or else I'm going to spiral badly just before a vacation that's in 5 days. I am not like your abuser. It has taken me many months to even begin loving myself again after what happened. 😔

There was absolutely no way that I was going to show up outside your door at all.

I am definitely not that person. I put in my vagueposts that any reminders of rural Japan would be triggering e.g. even imagining tatami flooring in my head would make me gag, so why would I spend a huge chunk of $ to even go there now, in the first place (far more so now, since I'm in remission for cancer)? That would make me feel sicker to my stomach than the set of multiple triggers I already had. One of my posts also speaks about me cancelling a hotel booking. Which means I was NOT going to go to Japan to find you.

Proof from my email inbox:

And I would have done this much earlier. But I got diagnosed with cancer.

So, I suspect that you and your group have deliberately not factored in info like that in your callout. Because you really want to push a certain narrative here. If you have been monitoring me, you would have seen that info. But you do not appear to have incorporated said info into how you are viewing this whole thing.

This group has assumed that my motive was about inserting messages and about reaching out to connect, when instead I was just processing my feelings. Is there not a difference between those? I feel that this group has created their own definitions for things.

This group has actively chosen to peek at a blog they don't want to follow (mine), like hate-watching something to feel righteous, and then got ticked off - idk about internet culture differences, but you could have chosen not to look? Esp after I said I cancelled my hotel booking? AND even when I did not speak ill of you at all in my posts, it still wasn't good enough for your group's set of rules. This feels like any phrase I type is going to be seen by them as "*hisssssss* she broke our rules!!", so I have a very bad feeling about continuing.

Whether you believe me or not, I already felt so so awful and guilty upon sending off the letter. And, seeing your art in my suggestions sidebars was not something I sought out. I didn't want to see your art. But the previews of your art still made their way past Tumblr's blocking and filtering system, and they would trigger me. This means I would definitely, absolutely, never want to show up begging you for anything, or write you anymore letters, after the wrongdoings from last year that are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. I would not dare to at all, because the guilt is still eating into me every day 😔😔😔

How ashamed do you think I feel now, now that I have learnt that what I did caused you to move apartments? And I do not want to say this in any manipulative manner at all. I say it from a place of utter sadness and shame.

And importantly, you sent me these from a new sideblog you created, back in February when you heard about my cancer:

In your callout post, you say there was absolutely no misunderstanding that went down between us. But in your February ask, you said "a grand misunderstanding".

If you've changed your mind, then ok, it's perfectly valid. But it really sounds like two completely different people who sent me this long ask in Feb, versus the callout post from 12 or so hours ago.

You said, "You don't care about how you've made me feel". But if I carry this much guilt, every single day, doesn't that mean that I care about how I have made you feel?

Or, are you wanting me to care about how you feel, in a very very specific way? I'm not you, and at this point I really don't think I can be.

You saying "this happened last flipping September" and "we only knew each other for 2-3 months tops"...means you have given my grief a timeline and deadline. I will really, really have to disagree about this. You may not understand it, but this is one area that I definitely can't change my mind about.

Grief is as unique as fingerprints are, and my grief has stretched on for 9.5 months now because the 2-3 good months we had? They mattered. They. Mattered. That. Much. To. Me. Those short months were real. It's not that I was scheming with some long-term plan, to be power-hungry or hungry for control in the friendship.

I still loved you all this time and mourned deeply, though now that you've put up that post, I'm really not so sure anymore.

You have every right to feel frustrated that I'm still mourning after almost 10 months. But if you are trying to say here that I must grieve in a way that you want, I'm very sorry but I really can't. Reading your callout post, I also do not feel like you have acknowledged the heavy guilt I have been carrying, which I am not lying about. I am acknowledging your pain, even if you cannot trust that I am, but don't see that you have acknowledged mine in the callout post.

Why couldn't you use a more balanced statement e.g. "I understand you are guilty, but your vagueposting makes me extremely paranoid and uncomfortable"?

Instead, you are saying "You don't care about how you've made me feel".

I am very very sorry, and could not be more sorry, for all the hurt I have caused you. This is the theme of the ask that I wanted to send to you this coming Monday, to that same sideblog of yours. But I won't send it anymore because you don't want that. You acknowledged in the February ask you sent, that you hurt me as well. But I fully acknowledge that I was the one started it: this is true.

In your callout post, you said "now you're trying to [break my trust] again soon?" Well, in your February ask to me, you said I could rehash what happened in September with you if I wanted. And I was prepping to do that this coming Monday, though I won't anymore.

I feel that your callout is presumptuous, filtered through your lens without checking with me first. Though at the same time: I fully understand why you wouldn't want to trust anymore, even if I'm telling the truth. I acknowledge this fully.

You have pointed out via DM that you are prone to all-or-nothing thinking and you KNOW it can be unhealthy:

And I believe this is what was in play again here, with what has happened.

I'm just. I am really, truly sorry. 😔😔😔 Now I feel that I'm gonna have to 100% block from my side as well, so that I don't start having serious symptoms, because the ring of "You have no right to X/Y/Z" in your callout post, and how you're implying to me how to navigate my grief...this has changed the impression I now have of you too, after almost 10 months 😔 So, this is goodbye.

I am truly sorry. I don't want to hide anything on here

-------------

Here's my conclusion:

- They filled in a massive gap with what they think my motives were, to push a particular narrative to suit a specific agenda, to make them feel a certain way that they wanted.

- E.g. being rather sure that I was gonna spend a huge chunk of $ to go and fly somewhere and, still talk to a person that I fell out with? That would be a really huge waste of $, time and sanity. But hey, they already spun a story to put out there.

- They also left this out on purpose: I spoke about the nausea I'd feel when I images of tatami flooring and anything Japan would appear in my mind. So...imagine how unpleasant it would be for me to even look at the real scenery and locations. So why would I take a huge chunk of $ out of my savings, to go somewhere and make myself feel worse than I already have felt about the imagery in my head whenever it pops up in my head? - The ask sent to me in Feb allowed me to rehash the fallout again. And when I wanna do the rehashing, I then get slammed for it. Uh? I could not read your mind that you had changed your decision: the change in decision was NOT communicated to me in private first. Then waywardsunlight, her friend and attack dog, shrieks at me asking why I put up screenshots of the February ask. If she put my username out publicly, and then demands that I don't put up that ask (which acts as proof) publicly.....what does this therefore imply? That this group doesn't want me putting out context that they wanna make sure they leave out? Feels like a double standard to me.

- Importantly, she has conveniently said "Well, how was I supposed to know all that?!?!" only AFTER she put out this story that she wanted to tell.

I am repulsed. Thank god

#negativity tw

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multifandom-damnation · 2 years

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So, I'm having a bit of trouble trying to piece together the story that led to Evandrin's supposed death, so I'm just going to lay it all out here for everyone to see, and if anybody understands it better than me, we can collaborate on a master post or something.

Sometime before the last replenishment, Laerryn enlisted the help of Evandrin, the First Knight, to travel via her Astral Leywrite to another plane (similar to her toy train in the present day). He was sent, and then returned, seemingly perfectly fine. Soon after this, he began to grow sick.

Laerryn, upon blaming herself for his illness, confided her doubts in Loquatius and to protect her, he lied on her behalf and hid her involvement with Evandrin's illness from the people of Avalir. Nydus was aware that her experiment took place, but not aware that she sent Evandrin.

Zerxus cared for Evandrin as he got sicker and sicker, while desperately doing everything he could to find a cure. No member of the Ring of Brass came clean about knowing anything about his illness. Eventually, he died or 'disappeared' and he went to Patia and begged her to do anything to bring him back. Patia attempted the 9th level spell 'True Resurrection", which does not require a body to revive somebody, and would have totally cured Evandrin of his illness, and was magic older than the Raven Queen's ritual, and the ritual went perfectly. However, Evandrin remanded dead and gone, and Zerxus asked Patia to remove his memory of the ritual so he didn't have to live with the knowledge that he had exhausted every option and still failed to save him.

Zerxus took on the mantle of First Knight, and their son, Elias, was sent down to Cathmoira to live with Evandrin's sister (Zerxus's sister-in-law) and Nydus's brother (making them tangentially related by marriage) and the two now have a strained relationship, partially because Zerxus hasn't seen him since the previous replenishment seven years before, leading to Zerxus not receiving a kite message from Elias and for his sister-in-law to apologise on his behalf in Nydus's letter. Side note: I believe that Cerrit's children live somewhere on Avalir? I was under the impression that they lived on Cathmoira with their mother, but their mother is out of the picture (I believe) and the way Cerrit spoke about them made me think that they lived together?

Cut to now, and we learn that the reason that Evandrin 'disappeared' was because he was slowly being drawn back towards the Tree of Names within the Aboreal Calix, and he was so sick because his body and soul were being torn in two, and the reason the resurrection failed was that he was never dead in the first place, but had been pulled towards the tree, trapped in some sort of half-way place between planes and trapped on the leylines.

Have I got that right? I'm having a little bit of trouble following along with the plot and backstory even though I am loving it. I really just want to get everything on order for my own purposes. If anybody has something to add, please mention it, because I really do want to know everything I possibly can.

#critical role #exu: calamity #zerxus ilerez #evandrin alterra #nydus okiro #patia por’co #cerrit agrupnin #loquatius seelie #laerryn coramar seelie #i'm always really bad at these meta posts but i really do want to work this out #mostly for fic reasons but also for my own peace of mind #if anybody smarter out there knows better than this pls let me know

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rena-iwa · 2 years

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» To lose himself in her, so that she could be lost in him.

Chapter II Pairing: Riftan x Maxi Rating: Explicit (18+) Word Count: ~2k Summary: Riftan and Maxi return to Calypse castle just in time for winter preparations. However, work is not all there is in the life of a man - although sometimes it is quite persistent, a mysterious disappearance taking them off guard… Setting: Most likely canon-divergent timeline (sometime post Book 2, but it's unclear how that would play out since it's not finished yet). Post Maxi's return from the Mage Tower. Previous Chapters: ChapI

It... seems this idea sprouted into an entire mini-series. As of now, I think I should be able to wrap it up within 4 chapters, although an epilogue may appear as well. (Cough, cough, potential pregnant Maxi?)

I'm sorry for taking long to update. I've been sicker than usual recently, and well, some days I couldn't do much past lying in bed. In case of being unable to continue the story for an extended period of time, I plan to write up outlines for the remaining chapters, and to post that. (Not sure whether I'd write the actual story then, but that's a bridge I'm not crossing yet).

» The sun had already hung high on the sky by the time they left the castle behind – admittedly, much to Riftan’s dismay, and much to Maxi’s delight. To rouse before him not just once, but twice in the same day was truly unusual, so much so that it had her wonder whether he hadn’t fallen ill. If anything, it only proved to her that Riftan needed this rest, her mood only improving once he grumbled out the reason behind the odd state of affairs. «

The dawn nearly came, the first grey lights paving the way for a new day. To wake up so early would once be unthinkable for Maximilian, but as her life changed, so did her routine, not even the comfort of her own bed being enough to stop her from rousing. Fire within the hearth having long died, she stirred below the covers, chills daring to stroke her exposed shoulders. How come no flames were left to buzz? That she could not comprehend, several of their kind having greeted her each morning ever since their return to Anatol… A frown nestling between her brows, she attempted to curl herself into a ball, completely oblivious to the arm resting over her waist.

Maxi stifled a yelp, her body indeed moving, but in the opposite of the intended direction. Something pulling her back, she opened her eyes, not quite sure of where exactly she was. However, she calmed down soon enough, familiar warmth enveloping her before she even considered putting up a fight. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say she melted into the embrace, locked safely within the confines of Riftan’s arms. His breath tickling her ear, Maxi felt his muscles relax, a somewhat whiny in tone, but otherwise incomprehensible, murmur spilling from his throat.

“R-Riftan?” she whispered, although to no reply. Maxi looked over her shoulder, all while attempting to remain as still as possible, striving not to disturb his rest. Perhaps it was not impossible for her husband to wake up later than her, but it was surely fairly uncommon, even more so if they had already made plans for the day. She studied his face carefully, too preoccupied with the way his lips parted just slightly to realise she held back her breath. Riftan always looked younger when asleep, more at ease – and having seen a portion of what he lived through, Maxi could not say she didn’t understand why. Overwhelmed by an urge to cup his cheeks and kiss his chin, she returned to her previous position, nestling herself snugly against him. Her husband always worked hard, she was aware. Too hard, in fact. What would exhaust a normal person, Riftan accomplished without shedding even a drop of sweat. But didn’t living in a constant rush wear a person out just as much? Insistent on letting him sleep, Maxi closed her eyes, the affection she held for the man bubbling inside of her chest… Unable to ignore it, she reached to hold his hand, her fingers brushing tenderly against his callouses, a dew of dreams soon falling over her.

***

The sun had already hung high on the sky by the time they left the castle behind – admittedly, much to Riftan’s dismay, and much to Maxi’s delight. To rouse before him not just once, but twice in the same day was truly unusual, so much so that it had her wonder whether he hadn’t fallen ill. If anything, it only proved to her that Riftan needed this rest, her mood only improving once he grumbled out the reason behind the odd state of affairs. Namely: she was there, nestled against him, and he could not recall the last time he felt so at peace. It filled Maxi with a determination to make each tomorrow such a day, his confession implying they had over thirty years of mostly poor sleep to make up for.

Castle gates shrunk at a breakneck pace, Rem working through all of her pent up energy with incredible vigour. Perhaps sensing the giddiness of her rider was what led her to that state, both her and Talon galloping forward without much – if any – care. They didn’t follow any set route, the day being fine enough as it was. Fields, marketplace, paths through a groove – just to ride was enough, wind ruffling Maxi’s hair, newly reddened leaves having her eyes shine. Her excitement appeared to ease any complaints Riftan might have had, black eyes watching her studiously, as if he wished to engrave some of the memories of the day in his mind.

Seeing that their horses could use a moment of rest, they slowed down, the outer wall gate somehow being just ten or so thradions away, a crowd gathered in front of it. Sentries, peasants, merchants, people all huddled so close to each other it was hard to tell them apart, tens of voices morphing into one, powerful, incoherent shout. Riftan frowned.

“What in the devil…” he muttered under his breath, Maxi’s expression hardening as she followed his gaze. Her brows knitting together, she pressed her lips into a thin line. However, her face smoothed out just a moment later, the change seemingly soothing her husband.

No words needed to be exchanged. Riftan steered his horse forward, and she followed him, some semblance of sense gradually emerging from scattered bellows and complaints.

“Back off!”

“… what happ–…”

“Let me go –”

“To a woman…”

“...boy.”

At once, voices turned to silence, cut off sharply mid-words… Like impudent weeds, uprooted by practised hands. Riftan took in the situation cautiously, his presence alone placating the crowd. Just a man – yet he towered above others, black eyes scrutinising faces of the present people with cold composure. The sentries seemed to shrink when he glared at them, the woman they held back raising her head, her eyes meeting Riftan’s gaze straight on. He knew the expression on her face all too well, the unyielding determination that sprouted from a place of despair. The clear disregard for what may happen, fake haughtiness of a wounded beast.

“Help me,” she pleaded, hear features twisting painfully as tears clouded her irises.

“Release her,” Riftan ordered – and so was done, her legs giving up below her. He turned his attention towards the sentries. “What is the meaning of this?”

“This woman tried to follow soldiers to the top of the ramparts, my lord! When denied entry, she attempted to climb the wall!” one of the men reported. Although tense, he appeared to be sure of his righteousness in the situation.

“I need to save my son!” the woman cried before anybody managed to say anything, the young sentry standing behind her growing pale at the words. Nevertheless, he did not dare say a thing, much unlike his companions.

“What would your son be doing outside? Heavens, the gate was closed, I’m telling you, there is no way an eight year old climbed over this wall!”

“I saw him following one of you yesterday evening, he didn’t return home since then! Where else could he be?! We’ve searched everywhere!”

“My daughter also saw it!” another voice rose.

“He could have just got lost!”

“My son knows the way back to his ho–”

“Enough,” Riftan spoke calmly, silence falling over everybody.

“My lord…”

The woman hung her head low, the words of objection dying in her throat as she trailed off, suddenly aware of her own impudence. Nevertheless, she lifted her eyes once more, her arms trembling. She dug her fingers into the ground.

“I… Don’t care for myself… Punish me, but my son –”

“Return home. If you were truly wronged, you will receive justice.”

“If he’s in danger, I have to go and –”

“Know your place,” a tinge of ice snuck into Riftan’s voice, the situation visibly starting to get on his nerves, his demeanour growing more collected by the second. “Outside you wouldn’t be much more than beast fodder.”

There was no discussion to be had there. As much as he was loved, Riftan never let anybody have any doubts about the order of command within his domain, people beginning to leave the space reluctantly. The mother did not dare look up anymore, her shoulders shaking violently as she stumbled away, perhaps struck by the reality of her own situation. Soon, it was only the three sentries that remained, all standing to attention in a neat row, all awaiting new orders from their lord.

The sun had begun its descent by the time Riftan was done questioning the men, Maxi waiting for him by the horses, Rem nuzzling her muzzle against her hand. She glanced up at the skies, unable to rid herself off of the odd uneasiness, something inside of her beginning to boil over – so much so that she forgot to take note of her husband striding towards her. Hood of her robe being pulled over her head, she blinked fast, stunned by her own lack of focus. She looked up sheepishly, Riftan staring at the gate.

“Did you… learn what h-had happened?”

“No. Damned fools… Their stories do not match.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance, visibly angered by the childish games. “You should go back to the castle first. I will have them spew the truth, but it may take a while.”

“I would… rather wait for you.”

“The night will be cold, you’re not dressed for the weather,” Riftan opposed – much to his own detriment, Maxi putting her hands on her hips, her chin rising high. He found himself unable to decide: was she more adorable, or more commanding? Perhaps… Perhaps it was both, at once.

“Neither are y-you!” she hissed a low shout, the variety that is meant to sound imposing without necessarily attracting a crowd.

“Maxi…”

“No! This situation is… very strange. What did t-they say?”

Riftan shook his head. It wasn’t that he was completely against having Maxi help, but given the circumstances… Was troubling her necessary? He turned to face her, a single glance into her eyes telling him he lost the fight before it had even begun. Clearly, Maxi had already decided to stay, and if there was a single thing the strongest man – no, even ten strongest men – of the continent could not break, it was his wife’s stubbornness.

“First one says there was a boy playing by the gate yesterday evening, but he went away after they yelled at him. The second one says there was a boy there in the evening, but he didn’t hear anything and saw him go away later. The last one says the boy played with a mana stone, and ran away after they noticed him,” Riftan summarised and rubbed his face. “Whatever happened to the child, they all have a death wish.”

Maxi nodded along, her hands curling into fists.

“If they are so insistent… on hiding the truth… then how bad must it be f-for them to make such risks?”

“Bad and recent,” he answered, her features only growing sterner. “I’ll go press them further. We may have to stay at an inn today,” he added after a pause, fully hopeful it’d distract her enough to ease her anger.

“I could cast… a search spell,” she offered suddenly, her eyes glowing. “I would look for the mana stone, and where it w-went.”

Feelings boiled inside of Maxi, her focus waning whenever her thoughts drifted towards the boy. How could he look? Was he still short for his age, or perhaps quite to he opposite? What had happened to him, where did he disappear – did he call for help? Was there somebody who could have saved him? A crease invited itself to nestle between her brows, the image of the rune fading within her mind. Disappointed with herself, Maxi touched her hands to the ground and closed her eyes, unwilling to let her thoughts wander this time around…

The trace she found was faint at first, residual fire mana having already mostly seeped into the earth. However, the deeper she searched, the sturdier it grew, winding magic seeping between the grains of sand and flowing past the gate… Her senses blurred, the path splitting, multiplying, collapsing and crumbling onto itself, all to re-emerge, moving forward as if it had never been disturbed. Maxi shot up to her feet while still upholding the spell, the mana outside flickering, more and more perturbance, separation, showing within it. Her hands having touched the gate, she turned around abruptly, chaos intensifying the further she reached.

Maxi opened her mouth, still somewhat unsure on what words she should use to describe her findings. However, she closed it just as fast, the young sentry from before rushing towards Riftan.

***

No words needed to be exchanged. Riftan steered his horse forward, and she followed him, some semblance of sense gradually emerging from scattered bellows and complaints.

“Back off!”

“… what happ–…”

“Let me go –”

“To a woman…”

“...boy.”

“Help me,” she pleaded, hear features twisting painfully as tears clouded her irises.

“Release her,” Riftan ordered – and so was done, her legs giving up below her. He turned his attention towards the sentries. “What is the meaning of this?”

“What would your son be doing outside? Heavens, the gate was closed, I’m telling you, there is no way an eight year old climbed over this wall!”

“I saw him following one of you yesterday evening, he didn’t return home since then! Where else could he be?! We’ve searched everywhere!”

“My daughter also saw it!” another voice rose.

“He could have just got lost!”

“My son knows the way back to his ho–”

“Enough,” Riftan spoke calmly, silence falling over everybody.

“My lord…”

“I… Don’t care for myself… Punish me, but my son –”

“Return home. If you were truly wronged, you will receive justice.”

“If he’s in danger, I have to go and –”

“Did you… learn what h-had happened?”

“I would… rather wait for you.”

“Neither are y-you!” she hissed a low shout, the variety that is meant to sound imposing without necessarily attracting a crowd.

“Maxi…”

“No! This situation is… very strange. What did t-they say?”

Maxi nodded along, her hands curling into fists.

“If they are so insistent… on hiding the truth… then how bad must it be f-for them to make such risks?”

“I could cast… a search spell,” she offered suddenly, her eyes glowing. “I would look for the mana stone, and where it w-went.”

Maxi opened her mouth, still somewhat unsure on what words she should use to describe her findings. However, she closed it just as fast, the young sentry from before rushing towards Riftan.

#maxi x riftan #riftan x maxi #under the oak tree #under the oak tree novel #riftan calypse #maximilian calypse

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marshmallowprotection · 2 years

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lately my love for Rika has bloomed.... I wish we had a Rika route, I don't care if she's a cult leader I want to hold her and I want her to be happy so bad

I feel like your best option for a Rika Route can happen in one of two ways. It either has to be before she meets Jihyun in the exhibition for his photography, or it has to take place AFTER Another Story, be it in a post-V-Route or post-Ray-Route type situation. That's the only way I can narratively make it make sense since once she's in firmly inside of Magenta, there's no way to draw her attention away from goals.

You could argue that the BE in V's Route could deviate to a Route of some kind but... by that point, it's a situation where you've given up on everything and everyone to stay by Rika in Mint Eye. I think for it to feel enjoyable for you as the player and to see Rika fully come out of her shell in a healthy way, it needs to be AFTER or BEFORE Mint Eye comes to fruition.

So much of Rika's turmoil bleeds with the pressure that Mika put onto her shoulders to express her devil, the way that Jihyun said there was nothing wrong with hurting him to take out her anger instead of persisting in therapy, the stress from trying to do anything possible to ensure that the Mother Choi couldn't hurt Saeran more, and the aftermath of what happens when ultimately all those things explode in her face.

Every experience she has leading up to Mother Choi's timely murder is another stack on the pile of dry logs that are going to burn when lightning strikes them. I would say with confidence that the point of no return for Rika emotionally is when she kills Mother Choi in self-defense.

To her, that was almost like proof that she was a monster and a devil, and feeling the blood coating her hands was what made her begin to isolate herself even more from everyone and turn towards Mika who nudged her shoulders with a devilish smile. "Let's make a place where salvation saves children before they fall to despair."

Mika and Rika were working together to build Mint Eye, but the more that Mika pushed... the sicker Mika became... the more that Rika had begun to develop her own methodology. She took everything she had been subjected to in her life and began to make Mint Eye something that would be hers. It was easier to say "I will fix this... I will make it all better... I can erase the past and make a better future."

Then it was for Rika to face the murder of Mother Choi and the rest of her trauma. She went into deep denial. If you've played Saeran's AE, I know you've seen V call it for what it is. She has a facade of Peter Pan syndrome. She wants to deny everything and stay locked tightly in a "childhood fantasy".

She'll never heal that way and she'll never move to a better place mentally if she clings to that.

She kept looking in the mirror to say, "I can fix it. I can fix it. I will fix it. I will destroy anything that gets in my way. If I am the devil, I will be a devil that cleanses the people of their sins so that they will only know a world of ignorant bliss. It's better to be a fool... anybody that tries to stop me will get it. I will make them regret it. I am right. I have to be a person that's right. If I'm wrong, that means my suffering was all for nothing and this rabbit hole I've dived into was wrong... I can't be the wrong person... I can't."

I can't blame her for that sentiment in some regard. I can see why she does what she does even if I hate what happens to everyone because of what goes on between her and V. Both are guilty here.

The murder of Mother Choi is the catalyst that sends her into a place where she can't turn back. V stands by her side, just covers it up, and does not think for a second that she needs to talk to someone about that. I know that they need to hide it to protect the boys but... I think a lot of people might gloss over that. She killed Mother Choi. It does not matter that Mother Choi was a bad person.

Murder is murder and the weight of it will make you feel horrible. I know that she and V got rid of the body as well and that in itself is even more traumatizing. Rika needed to be in therapy full-time at this point for her other trauma, but the fact that V didn't think to try and pay someone off to help? I know it might be tricky but he's rich. I do damn well think he needed to be in therapy just as much, and not just for this!

This mostly applies to AS Rika. By the time that we interact with Rika on the other routes, she is not like this. That Rika is long gone and is replaced with someone who wants revenge and has lost sight of the perfect she wanted to create in delusion. She's too focused on trying to make V suffer to see anything else by that point. Being in a cult like that, being the Savior, and being the one that "fixes" things warped all her sentiments over time to something... lifeless.

There's a reason why I wouldn't give a Route in the Casual or Deep Routes... the same reason why we don't have one for Unknown, and it's because they're too far into their goals to see anything outside of it. Revenge is everything and the rest is history. Unknown, at least, in the canon, would never give an MC the chance since he sees them as tools. In some respect, it'd be the same for Rika.

Reasonably, for me, you need to meet Rika before V or after Mint Eye. I can argue that meeting Rika before V means that it's going to be a complicated situation with the twins to make sure that they're safe in any way possible. She finds much in V at the time, but who knows what would've happened if she met someone else first? Would it be enough to help her get into consistent therapy? Would she find a way to feel seen without becoming clouded with her devil? Would she not feel isolated from V's obsession and her infatuation?

But, I haven't even covered this topic on the blog on how Rika's diary is a manifestation of her desire to BE Jihyun Kim. In her diary, she's literally fixated on talking about how she wants to become V... it just gradually shifts from loving him to wanting to BE him. She wants to be a better him. She thinks V is the ideal person to become. She even spends time tracking down information about him and interviews a lot of people to know more about his life.

Without that clouding her mind and V's inability to realize that they're so wrong for each other, it's possible that Rika could have a pathway to recovering from her childhood trauma. You just risk not being able to create the RFA or save the twins. That would be interesting to watch, though... an alternative path to make things right but at the risk of taking away everything that you know.

The other option is to meet her after the events of everything that happened. She's in therapy by now, hopefully, she's done with her prison sentence, and she's making something for herself away from the past. This Rika is heavy with guilt and trauma... but she's more or less learning how to be free in a way that won't make her feel like a monster. I imagine this being years after Another Story... since the implied prison time is... well, they make it pretty clear that she's not going to be out for a while.

Maybe she's righting the wrongs of the past... paying back to the people she hurt along the way... taking distance but ensuring that she's holding herself accountable... but she runs into you by chance and you show her that she can live a different life than one that is a place of wallowing in pity and shame.

I can't see a Rika Route in Alaska after the Secret Ending.

#spoilers for literally everything in this game #ask #melkinpump #mod kait #nobody add rika hate to this or so help me god #i don't put up with that

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jayjuno · 2 years

Text

PMDD - It’s genetic, not mental illness

I often wonder about how to write about my experience with living with PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder). I personally don’t know of any woman who suffers from it- most women with PMDD don’t talk about it anyway. I can’t possibly be the only trans man who suffers from PMDD. However, I haven't heard or read of a trans man admitting to having PMDD. Well... I’m a transman- I have PMDD. That’s one so far. 🙃

While researching PMDD, I found this post on Reddit.

The post is mostly correct in that PMDD is NOT a form of mental illness. PMDD has been coopted by the pharmaceutical/psychiatric industries so they can profit from prescribing outdated psychiatric drugs for it (shady, no?). However, the post seems to argue that PMDD shouldn’t be a diagnosis at all, which I don’t agree with. PMDD sufferers need recognition in order to get the support and help they need to manage their symptoms, but it’s a diagnosis of messed up genes, NOT a psychiatric one. The Reddit post is 9 years old, so it’s understandable that the information they had was outdated.

2017- that was when scientists discovered that PMDD was caused by a sex hormone-sensitive gene complex. You can read about the study here: https://www.nih.gov/news-events/news-releases/sex-hormone-sensitive-gene-complex-linked-premenstrual-mood-disorder#:~:text=%E2%80%9CWe%20found%20dysregulated%20expression%20in,Mental%20Health%2C%20Behavioral%20Endocrinology%20Branch.)

In a nutshell- women with PMDD suffer from a disease caused by messed up genes. It’s not a choice. Women with PMDD do not have a “bad” personality or “bad” behavior. It’s a genetic disease with no cure and limited treatment options. These faulty genes cause the body and brain to overreact to a normal rise of hormones in the days preceding a period (menstrual cycle). A psychologist would help with the emotional part, but psychiatrists and psychiatric drugs are completely inappropriate in the treatment of PMDD.

It’s genetic, not mental illness.

It’s interesting that they dyed the Prozac pills pink and renamed them Sarafem in order to market an old psychiatric drug to a non-psychiatric disease that only affects women and transmen. I wonder if this has anything to do with the fact that most psychiatrists who treat female patients are men? I would that like most men, most male psychiatrists are sexist at best and outright misogynists at worst.

When I was dealing with PMDD fueled crying spells, depression, and anxiety in high school, some idiots convinced my father that putting me on Prozac would help control my mood swings. Prozac did nothing to help me manage PMDD- all it did was make me nauseous to the point of vomiting. Paxil, another psychiatric drug some moron assured my father would help me, made me even sicker and vomit even more, while also doing nothing to help me manage PMDD. Finally, I tried zoloft for several years- it did nothing to help me manage my PMDD and just made me numb to everything. It’s sad to think of how many women who, like me, have suffered as a result of being misdiagnosed with psychiatric disorders or being written off as a “bad person”.

All of this is because we live in a man’s world where sexist men control everything- they have the power to gaslight/brainwash women about their own bodies. Trans men aren’t immune- I’ve seen men who identify as Democrat treat trans men the same way they treat women- with absolutely no respect whatsoever. I mean, look at what’s happening with Roe vs Wade. American society is inherently misogynist, and we all suffer for it. Psychiatric drugs come with many horrible side effects. How many women have suffered from side effects of these drugs as a result of being misdiagnosed?

I was prescribed prozac around the time they started promoting it for PMDD. Here is a Washington Post article from 2001 that discusses Prozac being rebranded for women with PMDD- https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/politics/2001/04/29/renamed-prozac-fuels-womens-health-debate/b05311b4-514a-4e65-aaa5-434cb2934271/

Being diagnosed with PMDD has been a mixed blessing for me. It’s depressing to know there isn’t a cure, and that there aren’t really any viable treatments for it. It’s depressing to know that the American psychiatric industry has been gaslighting women for decades, that they’re committing outright fraud by claiming they developed a drug to help PMDD when it’s really just Prozac in girly pink. Isn’t that adorable? They made the pill pink so everyone knows it’s for GIRLS. Haha... If this is not a scam, then I don’t know what is.

What actual treatment options are there for PMDD, other than a hysterectomy? Well, there’s a drug in Sweden (https://asarinapharma.com/pmdd/sepranolone-and-pmdd/), but it’s still being researched and not available to Americans like me. I’ll just keep trucking along, though, and keep up with the supplements and diet changes that have helped me so far.

It is reassuring to know that I’m not a bad person, though. I just have a bad disease.

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the-firebird69 · 1 year

Text

We went to the ships looking for information about your people and he says so what you ruined all the ships what do you think they're there for you nincompoop you don't have to look for any information that's a f****** enormous fleet that's a gigantic ship there's no other reason for your dumbass f****** n***** they're going to take you people on and take much of you or Max you're out of your f****** mind you're down there and you see ships that you have travel across it takes a f****** day at like 25,000 miles an hour or something I mean you're nuts you're insane you got to be so grossly stupid that you like these two idiots who gave up the whole world because they.... Had to pee and poop I guess. Well he says that and I'm starting to figure out something I may even think of that the whole time but I had to see why so I went through each and every ship incessantly. Why would you have to do that the ship is proof so you went ahead and ruined all this knowing full well that going through all the stuff you could be Ruimimg it. I swear to me after you're lying you're lying because you've seen stuff get ruined down there cuz you've been down there for so long and you saw these were not ruined is it something wrong with you mentally.

Tommy f and my husband

Well I found out that there's something wrong Jimmy Kimmel said this this place right this guy is sicker than hell he's going around ruin the clone stuff from the inside out. Had them do it. So that sounds odd and I don't know why it's time to F would admit to it

Hera

There's a place here called Force but really you're right about something these people were b******* artists too. Have a real ugly stupid plan

Tommy f

We know what it is and we know who it was let me know why it's far too many ships for Tommy F no he had robots. He made them and then sat inside the shadow dome because of the clothes so secretly it went around opening all the doors

Thor Freya

I guess I'm condemned it's really close fall cuz you couldn't get those things to watch and I was going to put the room at the top side and yeah I'm trying to take all right now pussies wouldn't do nothing right sounds good for a long time

Tommy f

I can't believe this well at least part of the story came out and sounds right but you have no right to destroy all that cuz you couldn't get to it it's certainly ridiculous

Mac

They turned on me I have evidence

Tommy f

I also do disagrees with you Tommy f his name is Jason hey disagrees with everybody who's following this conversation as if it's true because he says the clothes are trying to throw you off now friends here he's pretty sure and tell me after your deceptions with me I really smoke you and this one's going to smoke you cuz I posted something and it's still the one supposed to rock faster roster code is it fine and the secret weapon work so all that stuff

Jason

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moonlitlillypop · 1 year

Note

I can't imagine feeling comfortable reducing a whole human being to "TikToker" just because I refuse to see nuance to the point of inventing new and significantly more inane prejudices. These are inside thoughts. Did you think people would agree with you blindly shitting on someone just existing? For the crime of, what, being considered funny when she's views herself a comedian, partially? Oh no someone with clout, everyone quick throw peanuts! We can't LIKE each other! Anyway, you can't get me to care about someone who made a Tumblr account and was SEEN talking to people and trying to make them laugh to brighten their day. Can you imagine? Pressing a few buttons, and making content for people to look at? How disgusting of them. They should delete their blogs. Because this is logic that makes sense. /s

Remove the "don't be a jerk" from your bio or reflect on your behaviour. One of the two. Leftatlondon is just, a person. Who happened to get clout. Under the difficulty of capitalism and especially as a trans artist, I don't blame her at all for using her vine clout to make money and anyone who does is no better than the idiot customers throwing a tantrum because their waiter had self-respect. She's a fucking entertainer trying to live and work, and she's someone I could send a message to exactly like this. This vendetta Tumblr is increasingly developing against letting anyone fucking exist is so unhealthy and bizarre, you guys really fucking ate that propaganda from political invasion circa ~2015 that derailed yet another revolution wind-up and never stopped. So i mean it genuinely: please reflect, because there's a damn good reason we haven't succeeded yet and being easily fooled in to assuming a random woman making internet funnies is the enemy to the point of wasting your time shitting on her for no reason where many other people can see is definitely one of the many 2023 consequences of that and I seriously doubt Maya, the one you were pitting against her, would agree with you on at all. This is extremely anti-human and anti-the cause. I think it'd be upset you were doing that, even. I thought about pinging her to ask but opted to spare it from looking at your rancid fucking comments. Good fucking lord.

You don't have to give a shit or know anything about tiktok but giving a shit about human beings is kind of the whole point of leftism so if you can't do that you're really not as left as you think you are.

I don't know how many times activists can tell you you can't pick and choose like that and you are shooting yourself in the foot every time you attack a stranger over a base-less assumption, and everyone sees you do it and doesn't want to be around you for it. Is that what you want? You baffle me.

I'm trying to do actual work to make the world a better place but every time i look at any post it's so many fucking anti-human comments like yours, that make me want to rip my hair out make me lose faith. If we can't even afford a fucking internet stranger the basic decency of not shitting on them for no reason, we definitely can't build a better future. The stress has been making me PHYSICALLY sicker, I know I'm not alone in that fact—and you're contributing.

I seriously hope you learn from this instead of doubling down on your behaviour. I'm not sure what to expect at this point, but my hopes aren't high. I hope you surprise me. I sincerely hope you're better tomorrow. Delete this if you want, but please for the love of god think about the consequences of your actions.

I hope you have a nice day.

Despite your behaviour.

It is really not that deep. I just don't give a shit and I don't want to. Unlike you who seems to give way too many shits

#also what's with that dumbass last line #loser christian hate the sin love the sinner energy

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crystalcow · 3 years

Text

𝑆𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑//𝑆𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎𝑝 𝑝𝑡 4

Masterlist // child reader ML //

Sapnap x reader !p !child reader

Pronouns used: none specified!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, casinos

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝗼𝐤𝗼 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝗼𝐰??

Quackity was telling you all of his plans

He rambled on for hours of his ideas for casinos and how he was going to marry Karl and sapnap

It sounded great

He had his whole plan set up! He even had Sam helping him with the building

But then he left

Just like everyone else

But that was fine! You were just with sapnap

Before Karl came running over rambling on about needed to move his library

He had a library?

“[Redacted] you need to stay close, please”

You looked at him weirdly

Who the fuck was [redacted]

“Karl my names Y/n you idiot” “flame..” “sorry”

He didn’t even notice it and then you had to spend the next couple days hauling over 100 books

“Oo hey what are these! The covers look really weird”

You had found his time travel books

Woops

That man raced over and in the kindest way possible, snatched it from your hands

“Don’t touch those, they are my special books”

You just shrugged and let him be, he freaks you out enough

So you all traveled to this area in the spruce forest and built a really ugly mushroom hut

But hey it’s fine! Foolish thankfully came around later that day and made everything better

So you stuck around

Maybe you needed this, this new start

Oh but prime knows that wouldnt last long

Karl started forgetting

At first it was simple things as just forgetting where he was or little stumbles with names

But eventually he was going away longer and longer

He started calling you by these strange names, some that sound Victorian and western and others that are unlike you

One day he didn’t call you by your name at all

You were hanging around the Sakura trees and the big yin Yang pond waiting for sapnap to come back with George

Then you saw Karl exit the library, running up to him for a hug

It’s been two months since you’ve seen him

You fucking hated it but you couldn’t help but consider him another parental figure

He loved it

But he just stood there as you wrapped your arms around him

Expecting the usual “[reda]- Y/n, I’ve missed you so much my sweet flame!”

But there was nothing just a sad one sided hug

“Hello? I’m sorry but do I know you?”

You were ready to cry

“I’m sorry, I uh must’ve mistaken you for the wrong person” “No that’s fine! Hugs are nice?”

So you left and ran into the library

Scouring throughout all of the books until you found them

The same 8 books you shrugged away

You read through all of them along with Karl’s other journals

You didn’t like going through his stuff especially, a whole invasion of privacy

The more you read the worse it got

What were you gonna tell Sapnap?

Who the hell is James, and [redacted]?

And why couldn’t he stop

It’s no use anymore

You were simply just forgotten

𝐋𝗼𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐬

The closer you got to the large building, the sicker you got

Kinoko Kingdom was supposed to be your free pass

But somehow you always end up here

You called for Sam on the comms waiting for the beep

The inside looked great to say the least

“What are your past relationships with the prisoner?” “No answer.”

“Where are you currently resided?” “No answer”

“Do you believe the prisoner deserves his sentence?” “Maybe”

You put all your shit in the locker and followed him through all the safety checks

“I’m glad you didn’t bring anything with you”

You stood on the platform heart racing as the lava went down

It was like a ticking time bomb

The small squeaks and scratches of the hovering bridge

He just stared at you

That sick stupid mask was broken by tommy that day in the black stone room

So you had to look into his face

Lets just say he looks good in Orange

“Barrier up or down?” “Down”

He backed up into the corner as you stepped in

Smiling

Once the lava cascaded down your smile turned into a sick frown

“Hello” is that all he had to fucking say?

“Screw you. Fuck you. Damn you”

He just looked you a small chuckle escaping from his lips

“Those all mean the same thing.” “Well I’ve been living in cinnamon town for the past couple months, and I’m ready to fucking burn some buns”

Yeah he just laughed

“I’ve missed you Hot shot”

“You ruined our damn life!”

Someone went quiet

“If you didn’t have to have a petty little war, or criminalize children we could’ve been fine! It could’ve just been you, dad, me, and George.”

You were pissed, everyone just kept leaving you.

Tommy and Tubbo, Quackity, Karl, Dream, and hell even Wilbur

“You come and visit me, after not having seen me for months and you just yell? Not a hello or ‘how are you dream?’ ‘How’s prison dream’ ‘how can I help you get out of this damn place’ “

You just sat down ready to just walk out into the lava

“I’ve been stuck here for months! None of you even cared enough to visit me, hell even Tommy came around.”

You might have felt a little bad after leaving him

The prison was cold even tho lava was flowing right there

“Why would you leave the discs alone..” “Because I had to end it.”

What were you doing here

What were you planning on saying?

“So, what do you do in prison”

“I have a clock.”

You got up to go look at the pretty clock

Then threw it at his face

“Ow” “deal with it bitch”

The longer you stayed the worse the feeling in your stomach got

so you buzzed for Sam waving goodbye

“Wait.. Do they miss me?” “Can’t say, but I think this may be for the best.”

He wanted his best friends

But he just got the annoying teenager

Oh but that wouldn’t be the last

𝐋𝐚𝐬 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐬

You got a letter in the mail one day

Who the hell uses letters??

You were shocked to see the address and the small post card

“Come around some time”-Quackity

Ans on the back it had the cords

Oh well what did you have to loose? Sapnap was focused on Karl

and well Karl didn’t even know you

So you set off

It took you a couple hours travel by horse to get to the desert area

The large sign blaring in the red text

You gotta admit the place looked beautiful

There was a giant dick and different shops

You were shocked to see this random un human like guy

“Hello, I am Charlie a totally human guy!”

Yeah totally not slime

“I’m uh, Y/n?” He reached out for a handshake sort of thing

“Dap me up!” “Another time Charlie”

Maybe when you had hand sanitizer

“Ohh so your Y/n! Mister Quackity talks about you all the time, come on in!”

You were skeptical but followed anyways

Stopping in your tracks when you saw Fundy

“Furry?” “Fire shit?”

You went over to give him a side hug, ruffling his fur

“What the hell are you doing here ginger boy!” “Oh you know, just escaping nightmares”

You were confused then just let him be

You walked to the entry way of the place

A beautiful pond with flowers and an arch

“Did what the place where Mr. Quackity was going to propose!”

Going to?

You shrugged it off following inside

You hated to admit it, but you were excited to see him

Yeah you really needed a parental figure in your life at the moment

So when you saw him, he immediately pick you up in a hug

You didn’t fail to notice his change in appearance

That beanie stayed the same tho

Thank god

“Hey hey! Let me show you around the place, we can also go for lunch and talk.”

The casino looked great to say the least

Loud music booming from the speakers, along with the live jazz band on the side

Slot machines were going off every minute

“Have a chip, something to remember this by”

He handed you a red poker chip

It was a cool one tho, in the middle has a blocky sort of smile

Creepy and dopey.. sick!

So you put it around a spare silver chain

“So how have you been kid? ‘Ts been a while hasn’t it.” “Could be better..”

You both walked around the city in silence, offering to go in the super model shop

“No” “why not” “keep walking”

On your way to lunch you had to squint at what you were seeing

“Oh my goodness you’re still alive?!” “You’re alive!?”

You and revivebur just stared at one another

“Yeah he came back after I died!” “you what now-“

You just stared at Tommy and back to Wilbur

Oh god those shrooms were messing with your head

You should’ve gotten out of there a while ago

Quackity came over placing his hands on your shoulders

“Do I have to execute you both? Get off my damn property”

“Sorry Q. Say, Y/n wanna join Lmanburg 2.0?”

You back away holding your hands up

“I denied that offer once, and I’ll do it again. Fucking zombie freaks”

You obviously muttered the last part

Why the fuck did dream revive those two shits??

When did Tommy even die??

Your visit here has just gotten weirder and weirder

𝐌𝗼𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Quackity got you away from the brits as quick as he could

So he brought you over to his office

“So kid, how’s your dad..”

Ah you expected this question

“How the fuck am I supposed to know. He’s living his life, Karl’s time traveling! Oh yeah did I mention he doesn’t even remember me.”

He looked at you with wide eyes

“So I’m not the only one they forgot..”

You slammed you hands on the fable dramatizing the situation

“How would you feel about moving here? I mean you could work for me in the casino!”

You thought about it for a second

You have two options

1. Live in shroom town with bubbles

2. Move to las Nevada’s with Quackity

You were sure Sapnap wouldn’t mind

I mean would he even care?

He hasn’t for the past couple months!

“You feel abandoned there, over here there are hundreds of people. You’ll have the time of your life”

You thought about it for a sec

“Alright hand me a contract”

So you signed

Making deals with the devil huh

Little did you know it would cost you your life

Devils little soul

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

and this is the finale! I will take requests for sapnaps child, and I’ll do some shit with Quackity and the casino and go in more depth if wanted!

As always request and ask anything! And ask if you want to be on a taglist (child reader or general)

For those on the taglist I don’t know if you wanted to be tagged for all child reader shit or just dreams child.. so please tell me :)

@creatorofstars @georgenctfound @samistheidiot @smolbox-png @ghostlysenses @stellarinstigator @bobaducky

#sapnaps child #sapnap x reader #sapnap #sapnap x y/n #karl jacobs x y/n #karl jacobs x reader #quackity x reader #quackity x you #dsmp #mcyt #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #wilbur soot #tommy innit #kinoko kingdom #dream smp prison #las navadas #child reader

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16woodsequ · 3 years

Note

Weekly headcannon ask!

Do you have any headcannons or opinions on Steve and his dads relationship?

Hi! Sorry this took a bit, but here we are!

I do have some headcanons about Steve’s dad, and because I’m me, a lot of them are pretty angsty, so be warned!

TW: discussion of child abuse, ableism, and alcoholism

So first off, we have to talk about whether or not Steve’s dad is even alive. I’ve discussed this a little in a previous headcanons post, but Steve’s dad is technically dead in the mcu. Steve says he died of mustard gas. In the comics of course, Steve’s dad makes it home from the war, and is generally a terrible person.

I usually headcanon that Steve lied about when exactly his dad died. If Steve’s’ dad made it back from the war, then I headcanon he was a gas casualty at some point, and had lung issues afterwards. If he then died from something like influenza, then Steve could technically claim he died from mustard gas, without it being 100% a lie.

I headcanon that Steve does this, because I headcanon that Joseph Rogers (if he survives the war) is abusive. I imagine Sarah Rogers told Steve that he came back from the war a different person, and I can see Steve thinking to himself that the mustard gas killed his dad, just slower.

So anyways, that is an easy way to work around Steve’s claim that his dad died from mustard gas. If Joseph was abusive I can see Steve sort of wishing his dad had died in the war like he claimed.

Joseph Rogers’ A+ Parenting

I haven’t read the comics, so I am not sure if any of them expand on why exactly Joseph is abusive, but I imagine it has a few layers to it. For one, he is a veteran who is no doubt dealing with trauma in a time period when the effects of shellshock are not fully recognised. Alcohol is a common self-medicating tool, and I can see Joseph turning to that for relief.

Add onto that Joseph being a gas casualty, I usually headcanon that it is harder for him to breath after the war. PTSD and difficulty breathing would be a frustrating loss of control for someone like Joseph, and that isn’t even taking into account the daily stress of living in poverty as an Irish-Catholic.

And then there is Steve himself. Steve is chronically ill. He wouldn’t be the ideal son. His illness would cost money, and his breathing problems would probably remind Joseph too much of his own issues.

Ableism would be an easy thing for Joseph to latch on to. Eugenics was popular in that time period, and I can see Joseph seeing Steve as the embodiment of a lot of his anger. He went to war and barely made it back to his wife and child, but his child is sickly and can hardly breathe, and when he gets sick he uses up money that they don’t have.

Of course, Joseph wouldn’t be helping anything. I imagine he would have worked as much as he could, but it is debatable how well he could hold a job. I usually headcanon that he died right before the Great Depression, so he didn’t have to deal with that, but even if jobs were more available in the 1920s, I think his alcoholism would be his worst enemy and lose him jobs every couple of years or so, if not more frequently.

Sarah would be working too, since working class women would be more likely to work than middle class women, but I can see Joseph being sore about that too. I imagine every time he lost his job he was extra bitter about the fact that he had to rely on his wife’s work to survive. Toxic masculinity was deeply entrenched in that time period, so feeling emasculated would not have helped Joseph’s mood at all.

As for how often he drank, it is kind of hard to say. Technically prohibition was going on, but it was easy enough to drink in speakeasies most of the time. I’m not sure how easy it would be for him to buy alcohol and drink it at home, but it would be realistic for him to come home drunk.

Even if he had work that could be the case, since I imagine his work buddies would often go out for a drink after their shift. Of course, Joseph’s drinking would do nothing to help the financial situation of the family.

Joseph and Steve

I imagine Joseph was abusive and was a violent drunk, but while I think he hurt Steve, I don’t think he regularly beat him to a pulp. This is mostly because if he did that, then Steve would die. Steve is sick enough that I don’t think he would survive regular all-out beatings.

Of course, that doesn’t mean Joseph didn’t grab, push, hit, etc. But I think his anger tunnel-visioned on things, so if he were distracted away from it, or Steve managed to get out of the general area, then his focus would be taken elsewhere.

I think Joseph did a lot of damage with his words though. I imagine he yelled a lot about Steve’s inadequacies and how Steve is a waste of money, etc. That kind of thing would stick with Steve for a long time, and I can see him trying to be the least of a burden possible in response.

In general, living with Joseph would put anyone on edge. Even when he wasn’t actively hurting people, he could still get mad over basic things that remind him of his helplessness. Being around him would be like walking on eggshells. I imagine young-Steve flinched at loud noises and slamming doors, and yelling, but also tried not to show it, because his dad didn’t like him ‘being a coward’.

Also, I headcanon that adult Steve never really liked the smell of alcohol, especially on other people. I think part of him was a little glad that the serum made it so he couldn’t get drunk, because that means he can never get violent like his dad. I think Steve was always a little afraid of letting his temper get the best of him after the war, and so he tried to bury his feelings instead of dealing with them, because he didn’t want to turn out like his dad.

Good times

As all humans, Joseph would have his good days. Maybe he found a new job, or maybe something else put him in a good mood, but sometimes he would come home without being angry.

Those would be hard days too, in a way, because Steve and Sarah wouldn’t know if something would set Joseph off—and some days, acting worried that he will get mad would be enough to make him mad.

But I think Steve must have at least a few good memories of his dad. Maybe his dad being proud of him for a good grade in school, or maybe even being proud of him for facing off against bullies and telling them what’s what.

I think sometimes Joseph would try to treat Steve as though he were the son he wanted. He would chat with him about things they could do together ‘as men’, or he would tell him stories of his own boyhood days...but then, inevitable Steve would get sick again, and Joseph’s good humour would wash away.

Others and Joseph

I don’t think Joseph’s abusiveness was a very well kept secret. Tenement building walls are thin, and I imagine the neighbours knew what was going on. But I doubt Joseph was the only loud/violent drunk in the building.

Bucky might not have known the full extent of what was happening—because he was a kid—but he would have seen some of the bruises, and maybe Steve’s initial cautiousness around his own dad, and he would come to the correct conclusion. I don’t think Steve talked a lot about what was happening, but he would probably talk about his dad getting angry about certain things, or breaking stuff sometimes.

I imagine Bucky’s mom knew more about what was going on, and would do her best to help Sarah out, but Sarah would be in a tough spot. Divorce and single-motherhood were generally frowned upon, and her poverty would also make it harder to leave Joseph.

As for Steve’s teachers etc. I think most of them suspected too. But I don’t think much came about from it. Interesting fact, doctors were not legally required to report child abuse cases until the 60s.

Joseph death

This is a headcanon I’ve had laying around that I haven’t been able to put anywhere yet, but I headcanon that Joseph died of influenza when Steve was between 8 and 10. Given their poverty, I think Joseph would have died at home, which is kind of horrible, since that would mean Steve was around to watch his dad get sicker and sicker, and then eventually die.

As an extra cruelty, I think Joseph would be pretty peeved at dying this way, and I can see him vindictively telling Steve that he will die this way too one day, since he gets so sick all the time. I can just see Joseph being spiteful and saying something like that while Steve is trying to look after him while Sarah is working.

MCU canon Joseph

I also have a few thoughts for if Joseph did die in the war, and didn’t come back. I’ve seen content speculating that Steve wanted to join the army because his dad was a soldier. I don’t know if the comics say that anywhere, but I usually headcanon otherwise.

I think having a father who died in war (or having an abusive one afterwards), and seeing what that did to Sarah, Steve would know all too well what war could do to people.

No doubt Steve’s father would be on his mind while he tried to enlist, but I think saying he wanted to join mainly because his father was a soldier takes away from the heart of the reason Steve wanted to join—he felt like Hitler needed to be stopped, and he didn’t have a right not to do something about it.

Well, that got longer than I thought it would, but I hope you enjoyed!

Headcanon masterpost

#tw child abuse #tw ableism #tw eugenics #tw alchoholism #asks #headcanon #headcanons #steve rogers #joseph rogers #joseph rogers a+ parenting #marvel #mcu #long post #tw death #tw illness #tw alcohol #tw drinking

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madfantasy · 3 years

Text

What a world.. I'm sorry for ur pain world.. I'm sorry to add my pitiful worries to it too

Have been crying for few hours, something of a rarity that doesn't bestows itself when needed, but at the absurdist of times, timing being locked in my room cuz there's a stranger working at our yard that is separated from the main house; meaning having no need to be locked yet here we were.

They have been wiping the floor with my sibling earlier in the day, screaming and shouting while she tries to do everything they ask. This time demanding everything "more perfect" and the slightest mishap they accuse us of trying to make them look bad infront of the stranger visiting. I couldn't stand for it as usual so I had to step in- I didn't open my mouth yet till they shouted at me to shut the f up the minute they seen me coming, that I have no business in this, and they talk to us the way they please. I kept pressing that they are losing their minds over some guy they r paying - coming to fix the yard, not a king, which they made my siblings do breakfast and lay out candy for-- stuff we barely have for ourselves but gladly would share-- and to chill. They kept yelling at me to shut up in progressive aggression till they literally couldn't breathe. I was chuckling hysterically even tho boiling with anger cuz idk that my automatic reaction nd said wish that we di before them and see what they can do without us.. they are ill and they r literally getting sicker screaming but they didn't stop or even can hear me..

The guy didn't even touch the food, just took water..

They weren't take it easy anyway this week.. they literally got up furious to us trying to party on Eid to shut the frk up so no one hears us on the streets, even with me trying so hard not to wake them and have a party with my siblings, only lasted 20 min out of the 3 days.. they cursed ppl too who had their music blasting and them whooping and basically having fun.

I suppose it was a built up to this but it does feels like an another end to my sanity. This point I just wonder what I truly did to deserve any of anything.. I basically have been like a slav to them all my life and yet.. they tell me as a child I kicked and slapped them and they didn't complain (which I think is a lie, probably only as toddler, cuz sure as frk I remember them beating me for any reason since ever after), so why I do complain about them now all they can do is verbally abusing us on daily basis

This month istg really started all the wrong ways.. greatest upset was the phone company charging me twice, basically taking my spending money and no one did anything about it even as I reached out to them all possible ways. Can't do much more cuz the phone account not in my name

And on tiktok, like, my last resort to grow my art and whatever. Wasn't allowing me to post for few days and eventually just it came to this with views..

Or this comment on a tintin post

So as usual I took refugee in tintin only for it to trigger me to cry my eyes when I came across this panel

Because, logical response

... I don't know anything anymore

#text #personal

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

Text

Delete the Twitter app, Mr. Barba

In which Rafael Barba deletes the Twitter app because of the Householder case, and Carmen babysits him.

Accidental Feminist Icon

The last thing on Rafael Barba’s mind when he was in the hospital room with Maggie Householder was his online reputation. Once he’d turned himself in and been released on his own recognizance, however, he opened his phone to call mami and instead saw hundreds of Twitter notifications, emails from people whose names he didn’t recognize, and missed calls and voicemails from unfamiliar numbers. He didn’t touch Twitter, texting Carmen to ask how bad it was and she advised him to delete the application until at least after the trial. When he went home, mami was there and just as disappointed as he expected. There were tears the minute she saw him, but not any offered comfort.

“You murdered a child, mijo.”

“You don’t understand, mami. No lo viste. El no estaba realmente vivo.”

“Esa fue la decisión de Dios. No es tu decisión. Tu abuela estaría tan decepcionada de ti.”

“No estoy de acuerdo. Si estás aquí para regañarme, vete a casa.”

“Te llevo a la confesión.”

“Vete a casa, mami. Me confesaré cuando esté lista.”

“Rafa-”

“Go home.”

Lucia stormed out, and Rafael went inside his apartment and went straight for the scotch he kept aside. It wasn’t his good scotch. It was the cheap one that burned his throat and left him sicker than he ever was the next day. Before twisting off the cap, he heeded Carmen’s advice, deleting the Twitter app as he dropped to the couch and began to drink. It was only eleven, not even noon, but he didn’t want to remember what had transpired the day before. He should wade through his email, but someone had posted it. He knew because it was referenced time and time again that they’d found his personal email via some Twitter thread or Subreddit or something else he hadn’t yet encountered. He’d had to mute his phone as phone calls rolled in; the only one he answered confirmed it was strangers from the Internet who had seen the news. Carmen called it getting cancelled when it happened to other people. That usually didn’t involve the loss of a life, so the term seemed not quite right for what was happening, especially given the fact this included more than just the people he was used to. People who had never encountered him were hearing about him in the news.

He ignored Olivia’s calls, considering the morning’s interactions enough. As he drank, Rafael was able to filter unknown numbers and messages, tossing the phone aside and quickly finishing the bottle. Olivia came by, and he didn’t answer, choosing to lay back on the couch as the room spun around him. Carmen texted him, and he didn’t look. An hour later, he heard her outside of his door with Olivia and unlocking he apartment for her. He’d given her a key long ago so she could get files or suits or drop off leftovers. Both of them came in, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had his suspenders down and shirt open over his undershirt. He’d spilled the most recent tumbler over himself with the pizza he’d ordered. And now, they could see him like this, eyes rimmed red and mood unstable as he thought more than he could about himself.

“Mr. Barba,” Carmen said softly, kneeling by him. Olivia stayed closer to the door, surveying the room. By the nature of their constant proximity, Carmen had seen the tail end or starts of Rafael getting frustrated, though he always pressed it down with a glass of scotch and good meal. That said, she’d found him too drunk after a trial didn’t go his way. Seen him frustrated as he went through a case he may not be able to do anything about it. Caught him yelling at paperwork as though something would happen. She’d also seen him the next mornings when he came in pretending not to be insanely hungover and was wearing the suit from his office.

“I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t. Is this what happens between an eight o’clock bourbon and the office suit?”

“Shut up, Carmen.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry,” he said with a huff as his hand ran down his face, and Olivia had to stifle a laugh at how properly embarrassed he looked. “My email and phone are bad. How bad is Twitter?”

“Medium. A lot of people understand. Or they feel that they can’t understand, so they’ll watch the story.”

“People understand murder?” he scoffed.

“No. No one does. But we all understand how impossible your choice was. How badly the parents were hurting.”

“I was too selfish to do it for my dad.”

“I know, Mr. Barba. But people want to know how long until they hear more. Want people to wait. Can see why you did it. It’ll blow over. We can change your number and your email. Twitter has a really handy button. Block.”

“My name’s Rafael.”

“You’re my boss.”

“Not for long,” he chuckled bitterly before his gaze softened. “All I wanted was for people not to hurt.”

“You need to go to bed, Rafa.” It was Olivia now, and his eyes suddenly snapped open. It was different when it was Olivia. They were friends, but they kept things to work. Other than the occasional group event, they’d grab dinner after work. She didn’t hear him debate pocket squares or see him drunk alone in his office or help him think of replies on Twitter. He’d probably lose his friendship with Carmen once he wasn’t in the office, he supposed. She humored her boss a lot more than she probably should.

“I’m fine, Liv.” It came with more of a snort than he liked, and he was suddenly pulling himself up to sit, wrapping his shirt around himself as though it were a cardigan. Carmen watched he was steady, and Olivia was sure she now knew what she’d looked like when Noah was learning to walk on his own with her hand on his back to keep him upright. Once things passed, she wanted to ask if Rafael was always this willing to be relaxed around Carmen, but she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

“I don’t think I’m helping things,” Olivia said softly, and Carmen gave a gentle nod.

“My son’s with my mom for a visit. I’ll take care of him.”

“You’re sure? I can call Lucia.”

“I’m fine, lieutenant. And mami has already been here.”

“Make sure he meets with an attorney tomorrow.”

“I make his calendar. I know.”

“You two can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” he grumbled, heels pressed against his eyes. “I’m drunk, not deaf.”

“You’re belligerent, counsellor.”

“Call me Rafael,” he said again, flopping onto the couch when Olivia had left again.

“I thought Lieutenant Benson was your best friend, Rafael.”

“She is, I guess. Is that sad? My best friend used to be Alex, but I pursued that case. As if mami needed more reason to hate me.”

“You don’t act like you in front of her. Not all the way.”

“This isn’t me.”

“It’s you without a carefully constructed persona.”

“If that’s the case, I suppose you’re my best friend, Miss Frye.” She’d expected to see a bemused smirk or annoyed scowl, but Carmen was taken aback by how sincere he looked as his hand moved to rest on her forearm and squeeze as well as he could.

“My name’s Carmen,” she teased. “Now come on. You need to go to bed.”

“My suit will get wrinkled.”

“I’ll hang it for you.”

“You can sleep in the guest room. It’s not safe for you to go-” His eyes were suddenly wide. “Carmen, where’s Ollie?”

“With my mom. I told her you needed me for a couple days.”

“You don’t need to disrupt your life.”

“I’ll tell you a secret Mist- Rafael.”

“What?” he asked, flopping into bed where she’d pulled the blanket down once he managed to strip to his boxers.

“You’re my best friend too.” She tugged the blanket over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. He smiled up at her, and she made her way out turning off the lights. It seemed silly to say it to someone like him, but they’d worked together a long time, had a lot of late night talks. She liked him more than a lot of people she knew, and saw him more than anyone outside of her family.

Carefully, she cleaned his living room, dumping his other bottle of cheap scotch out and disposing of both before setting up the coffee to brew at seven, just in time to have him at an attorney’s office by nine. McCoy had approved her to work from wherever she needed to in order to keep Rafael functioning. She’d have been miserable helping Peter Stone with this trial anyway. They both knew about his father, and it seemed he may be a ticking time bomb. She logged into his twitter, going on a blocking spree as she explored his mentions, tweeting from her own account and his that she’d done it and retweeting it from his account.

She also liked all the kind ones. The ones asking for understanding or expressing empathy. The ones that acknowledged he had an impossible choice and neither one would have sat well with their own conscious. Leave a child and his family to suffer without end or expedite the inevitable. Then there were his direct messages. Since getting verified, he had the ability to only see messages from people he followed. As she combed through, there were a couple of hateful messages she ignored, but most who knew him expressed understanding and a couple even included leads if he wanted out of the city. She marked those down in her notes app before falling asleep in the guest bedroom.

The sound that greeted her in the morning was Rafael Barba vomiting as the coffee machine roared to life in the background. Silently, she ordered ginger tea and vitamin b12 for delivery, going to fetch the pedialyte she’d brought from home. When he came out, hair wet from a shower, she’d already brewed him tea, cooked breakfast, and given him an expectant look as she slid a glass of unnaturally purple electrolytes to him. He didn’t know what to say, so he took the proffered glas and took a long sip before wincing.

“Grape,” she said plainly.

“Grapes don’t taste like that.”

“Ollie likes it okay. I make him popsicles though.”

“He’s old enough for popsicles? Isn’t he still on milk?”

“Rafael, he’s two. He drinks milk, but he even eats.”

“Does he like books yet?”

“He does. He really likes being read to.”

“I’ll read to him next time I see him.” He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick. “Do you play him music?”

“Some. Usually my playlists.”

“Play him Bach.”

“You’ll have to tell me what’s best to play him.”

“I’ll send you a playlist.”

“Why Bach?” She watched as his jaw shifted from side to side, lips pressed together, and that told her all she needed to know. “Drew liked Bach?”

“He’d never know if he liked Bach. Maggie was playing one of his cantatas.”

“Maybe we can take him to an orchestra one day.”

“There are some shows. Kid friendly.”

“He’d like that.”

“I’ll send it to you.”

“You’ll come, won’t you?”

“Me?”

“It’s your idea.”

“You’d still let me around your son?”

“My son is a healthy vibrant boy. If he was in the same situation as Drew, it would be hard, but I’d still want you there. You did exactly what I would have done for him, okay?”

“Did you mean what you said last night?”

“Which part?”

“The last part.”

“You probably are my best friend. And that hasn’t changed. I wish you didn’t have to be put in the situation, but I would hope I’d have been strong enough to do the same. And other people agree with me.”

“God, you’re not actually looking at Twitter.”

“I looked at Twitter. I blocked anyone vitriolic. But, I collected all the kind ones in your favorites for when you’re ready. A lot of your attorney friends have job leads for you if you leave the DA’s office.”

“I’m leaving. And I’m probably going to fucking prison. You’ll be down a friend in a few months.”

“Stop it.”

“They’ll end me in there, Carmen. I sent some of them there.” She wasn’t sure what to make at how at peace with the prospect he was.

“And you won’t go to prison. Don’t focus on that. Even if you do, they’ll have to do something to protect you. And I’ll come visit you.”

“You barely know me.”

“We spend more time together than I do with anyone else. I know you’re good, you have a good heart, you send birthday presents to every SVU detective’s kid and think I don’t know you send them coffee gift cards on their birthdays. You’re a total mama’s boy and despite what a snarky prick you are, you have imposter syndrome out the ass. You’re lapsed enough Catholic not to go to church, but you pray when things are really bad. I also know some part of your brain feels like you’ve let down people who think you do good work by this one thing, but one bad doesn’t outweigh an exorbitant amount of good. I hope Ollie has half of the ethical backbone you do. I know there have been occasions in the past you weren’t perfect, but the man I’ve known deserves every ounce of credit he gets. That doesn’t mean you’ve never made a mistake.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, and much to his chagrin, Carmen wrapped him in a hug that he returned, refusing to look at her. He was suddenly aware he’d cry if he looked at what he knew was a genuine smile. “I’ve got to get dressed to see an attorney.”

“Who are you going with?”

“Randy Dworkin.”

“He’ll be good.”

“I hate to admit that. And I’m sure I’ll hate every second with him.”

“How about you teach me about Bach this afternoon?”

“You have work.”

“McCoy approved me to be remote.”

“So you’re my sitter?” She could almost swear a smile pulled at the corner of his lip, and she felt pride she didn’t expect.

“I suppose. So Bach?”

“Bring Ollie?”

“Deal.”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #law and order #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #Rafael Barba x Carmen

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treksickfic · 3 years

Text

The City on the Edge of Forever

I’m so excited to share this with you, anonymous requester! After you sent in your prompt, I had another anonymous reader get in touch with me to let me know they’d already written a story that matched your wishes exactly.

The author of this story is French, not a native English speaker, and they’ve written a beautifully touching story that expands on the TOS episode, City on the Edge of Forever. I am posting it here on my blog, with their permission, because they do not wish to have an account nor have their identity attached to the story. This writer has already become dear to me and I’m honored that they trusted me with their writing. I hope you enjoy it!

It’s a long story, nearly 3,000 words, so RIP to your dash if you’re on mobile. I didn’t want to post it on AO3 or anywhere else except my blog, which feels safer.

Trigger warning for panic attack and trigger warning for some mild emeto, if you’re sensitive to that. It’s not very graphic.

“James Kirk, I demand an explanation!”

Scotty, Uhura, the teleportation technicians, and the security guards were completely dumbfounded by the doctor's explosion. They watched the captain stagger off, livid, as if he had been punched in the stomach. He disappeared without a word, with long stiff steps, from the room.

“Jim!” yelled McCoy.

“Not now, doctor.” Spock's cold, dry voice stopped him.

Spock squeezed McCoy’s arm firmly and Scott was sure to read in his black eyes a burst of fury. McCoy noticed it too, because despite the storm of his own eyes, he remained silent.

“Everyone, at your posts,” declared the Vulcan. “Scott, you are in charge for now.”

“Yes, sir.” Scotty nodded, refraining from asking any questions.

As soon as they had come through the Time Gate, seconds after they left, it seemed, but many weeks later for them, he had seen that they were not fine at all. The captain was pale, deaf to their questions, obviously struggling with the tears that filled his eyes. The doctor was just as white, his face contracted with a terrible anger. As for Spock, he kept his eyes fixed on Jim, his usual indifference altered by deep and obvious concern.

What the hell had happened?

This is precisely the question McCoy yelled at Spock, pulling himself brutally out of his grip as they entered his office, safe from prying ears:

“Damn it, Spock!”

“If you calm down, doctor, maybe I could explain.”

“Calm down? CALM DOWN? Shit, Spock! How do you want me to calm down?”

“Breathing. Deep, and slowly. Start by sitting down.”

“Don't fuck with me!”

“The Vulcans don't fuck with people. Now, please calm down.”

Jim killed someone without thought. There's no way I can calm down. Shit!”

Spock gritted his teeth and an aura of icy disappointment emanated from him:

“Jim killed someone without thought...do you get along, doctor? You've been aboard this ship for over a year. You even pretend to be the captain's friend. How can you accuse him of this without thinking for two seconds?”

“I saw it ! He prevented me from—"

“--and your poor little mind preferred to give in to this abject emotion rather than try to find a logical explanation. Jim, the most compassionate man we know…would he have acted like this for no reason?”

These words had the effect of a cold shower on McCoy. He shook his head, gradually coming to himself. He hadn't actually thought for a single moment, mired in a nauseating fury that he hadn't even tried to control. Shame replaced anger and he sagged in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment.

The past few weeks had been a total blur. He had woken up in a room with antique furniture, with an adorable woman at his bedside: Edith Keeler. It had taken him some time to realize that she was neither a hallucination nor a very good actress, but that he was indeed in a different era. Back in the 1930s. And he had barely had time to figure it out and come out of the bedroom to find answers before Jim and Spock, overjoyed, fell on him.

The next second Edith was dead. And it was Kirk's fault., He had kept him from coming to her aid. It had been too much emotion, too quickly and too soon. He had not managed to digest it, even less to understand anything other than what he had seen:

Jim had killed Edith.

But now that Spock had brought him back to reality, it all seemed absurd. And he noticed certain details: His friend's trembling when he held him; the tears in his green eyes when he leaned against the wall; Spock's unusually soft words when he had defended Jim, "he knows doctor, he knows."

How could he have seen nothing? Holding back a moan, he confronted Spock's stern face again:

“Explain it to me.”

“I'll do it quickly. In the timeline of our current story, Edith Keeler dies in 1930. In the one you walked through, paranoid after the cordrazine syringe accident, her ideals of peace and openness reach Roosevelt's ears and America becomes a peaceful country. That prevents its involvement in the second world war. Germany wins and dominates the world. Our time, therefore, does not exist.”

“Oh.”

“By the time you got there, after roughly locating your destination, we got to know Edith. A very charming woman, particularly intelligent.”

“And, Jim—"

“Was deeply in love with her. But for the good of a whole world and not solely himself, he let her die and prevented you from committing irreparable damage.”

“My god.”

McCoy put his head in his hands, overcome with excruciating guilt. Spock watched him, suppressing the harsh words that itched on his lips. The man had realized his mistake. It was useless to add more in the current state. He sighed for a long time, feeling unpleasantly empathetic towards Jim. He admired the way the man had managed to silence all of his instincts to save everyone:

“You should go see him, doctor. I think leaving him alone right now is not the best solution. Especially since he slept and ate very little while we were on earth, and even less after he realized that Edith had to die. He was ill several times during the night. He needs help.”

“Perhaps it is better ... Chapel—”

“No, Leonard,” Spock said, as kindly as he could. “He needs you.”

McCoy let out a deep sigh. He felt silly, and unforgivable. But for the sake of his friend, and indirectly, the sake of the crew, he knew Spock was right. Grabbing his medical equipment, he left in the direction of the captain's quarters.

*****

Jim rested his forehead against the cool edge of the toilet. The doctor's words were circling in his mind, adding further weight to his overwhelming grief. He felt sick, his stomach as tight as his chest. A discomfort that had become familiar over the past few days. The intense nausea that rolled and rolled, threatening at every moment to overflow was a most unpleasant physical manifestation of his stress.

Despite his efforts to conserve food that was already scarce in their daily life in 1930, there were times when he couldn't do anything about it. Nightmares woke him in an agonizing sweat, on the verge of ruining the atrocious coarse cover of their flop.

He managed each time to sneak into the bathroom before returning the meager pittance with spasms he tried to silence. He also appreciated the discretion of Spock, who had the delicacy of pretending to sleep when Jim returned to his bed several minutes later, breathless and exhausted. But now that he was alone, aboard the Enterprise, he had no reason to contain himself, and did not fight the gagging that came out violently, like revenge for being held back so long. His stomach, however empty, kept revolting, replacing his sobs with endless contractions.

He had barely activated the door to his quarters when they had started, and he had yielded to the spasms with some relief. As unpleasant as vomiting was, his whole body tense and sore as he curled up over the toilet, at least it kept him from thinking about it. Being sick kept his mind on constant alert, focusing his attention on the spasms, gasps, bile, burning and kept the fear away. Unbearable, interminable, but ... secondary.

He coughed cautiously, catching his breath, feeling even sicker from the pungent smell that hung around him…the smell as horrible as the way he felt. This place of suffering and abandonment suited him.

He leaned over awkwardly when the bile passed his throat for the umpteenth time and spilled out in a long convulsion. He grabbed his stomach and closed his eyes so he couldn’t see the mess coloring the water again. The dizziness began to build, the light becoming unbearable as a migraine took hold of his temples, seeping through to his sinuses. He shivered, trying to reach for the chase to vent some of his weakness, when a hand rested on his forehead. Incredibly cool, it brought such comfort that he could not suppress a fragile sigh.

Tenderly the hand placed a damp cloth on the back of his neck and then finally came to cover his eyes. There was the terribly aggressive sound of the toilet flushing, then a voice whispering for the light to drop to 20%.

That voice ...

His comfort immediately ceased, replaced by anguish. He coughed sharply, spitting out more bile in an effort to shake off the impending grief. He could do nothing against the intense tremors that made him gasp, nor the panicked sob that burst through the vomiting.

“Shhh, Jim.” The voice was a broken whisper. “Shhh, everything is fine.”

Kirk wanted to yell at him to go away, to leave him, not to hurt him anymore. Irrationally afraid of the anger that had rained over him earlier at the prospect of having to face reality. Instead he could only moan, shaken by a horrible, nauseating cough.

Feeling Jim shake and panic under his fingers, McCoy was crushed by an intense wave of guilt. He had seen Jim gripped with grief, stress, drunkenness, anger... but never so completely. It was the first time he seemed ... broken ... and it was largely his fault.

The abnormal heat radiating from his skin indicated a high fever and explained his lack of self control. McCoy took a syringe out of his bag and spoke in a very soft voice so as not to hurt his friend's headaches.

“Jim, I'm going to inject you with a painkiller, it'll help you relax.”

He had no other answer than a small hiccup and a burst of bile.

Nervous vomiting, McCoy noticed. It was serious. He was going to have to play it safe to get the captain to calm down enough to free himself from his sadness and he hoped the hypo would act quickly. He thrust the syringe into his biceps and took advantage of the slight respite that followed to quickly run the medical tricorder over Jim’s upper body.

The latter told him what he already knew: extreme stress, high fever, deficiencies in iron and magnesium, low blood pressure...nothing to indicate a gastric bug apart from weakness due to deficiencies, which reinforced his theory of psychogenic nausea.

McCoy was relieved to find that the sedative had done its work: Jim was shaking less and seemed more lucid.

“Bones...what--?”

Bones. So he didn't blame him. This man's empathy would kill him eventually, the doctor thought. He put a protective arm around the Jim’s shoulders and another under his chest to support him. He could feel the angry stomach muscles that continued to struggle and tighten. He gave a sad little smile.

“We are going to talk about all this. But first, we are going to get out of this horrible room. You need to lie down.”

“Um, that's not safe,” Jim grimaced with a little hiccup.

“I'll take a bucket, but I want you to lie down. Doctor's orders.”

“If it's an o-order,” he stammered, in a slight attempt at humor.

Jim allowed himself to be helped without opening his eyes, too ill to protest, and too weak to fend for himself. Bones almost carried him to his bed.

Once lying down, McCoy carefully removed Jim’s boots and socks, pulled up a wonderfully warm blanket and put a cloth on his forehead. Then Jim heard the familiar whirr of the tricorder passing once more over his body and finally the sound of several mixes. Careful fingers rested on his right temple.

“Can you open your eyes?”

“Urgh, Bones, I'll throw up if I open them.”

“There is a bucket, don't hold back. I need you to look at me.”

Jim groaned but obeyed. The light, even though very dim, made him moan in pain. It penetrated his head like a blade and triggered, as announced, a violent nausea.

McCoy held him very gently as he threw up a thin trickle of bilious saliva. He fell completely exhausted on the pillow once the attack was over. The doctor muttered something unintelligible and wiped his face.

“I should send you to the infirmary, Jim. You have serious deficiencies and that added to the stress...this is a perfect combination for a migraine in due form. I'll put you on an IV to regulate your sugar levels and give you a strong pain reliever. It should help you feel better.”

Once everything was in place, a tactical, hesitant silence settled between them. Jim could feel his presence, sitting on the edge of the bed rather than a chair, and the warm, warm hand pressed to his shoulder. The exhaustion and sadness rose in power now that the disease could no longer build its walls around his mind. He saw Edith again. Edith and her sweetness, her love, her joy, her magnificent ideas.

"She's fair ... but not at the right time," Spock had said, trying to make her listen to reason when he...he told her that she had to...die. He had desperately looked for another way but...but—

He clenched his teeth, overtaken by the intensity of the pain. By the gesture. He had even been unable to look at her body. He had not turned around, refusing to see what he had just done, struck head-on by the horror and disgust emanating from the doctor.

He swallowed, feeling the tremors start again, the despair skyrocketing. McCoy, hearing the gasps in his friend's tight breath, tightened his grip on his shoulder.

“I ... I loved her...Bones—"

A tear gathered in the corner of his eye and he sniffled, trying to pull himself together:

“Jim,” McCoy whispered, his own emotions rising. “I ... I don't even know how to apologize.”

“You have nothing to excuse. You are right. I ... killed her.”

“No. You saved our world. You did what you had to.”

“Oh, you spoke to Spock,” Jim whispered with a bitter smile.

“Yes.”

Despite the darkness, McCoy could see the paleness growing and the captain's face tightening with the effort to hold back the sobs. He searched for a moment for words he could say to alleviate the pain. Not finding them, he shook his head.

Jim tried to speak, with difficulty. “I shouldn't—”

“You have the right to be sad. You just lost the one you love in an act of unimaginable courage. Jim, I'm an overly impulsive old fool, I can't even imagine what you've been through and I sincerely ask forgiveness for this unjustified anger.”

“Please, Bones—"

“No, let me finish. Thank you for your understanding, but you don't have to. I acted like an idiot.”

“You couldn't have known.”

“That's no excuse. I know you and should have taken a step back.”

“What is done is done.”

“Jim, what I'm trying to say is that you must not let my emotionally spoken words get to you. You didn't deserve it.”

“I...I searched and searched...and searched again. I couldn't get away from her even when I knew that—”

“You were in love.”

“No, Bones. I'm in love. A selfish person who regrets choices that he shouldn't regret.”

“You are human, and you are suffering. Let it go.”

Another tear rolled down, then another, and finally it was a torrent that poured into the pillow. The captain put a hand over his mouth to silence the gasps of despair and the overwhelming agony of loss. Bones gripped his shoulder, patting it in a comforting gesture. He watched Jim sob like a child, breathing laboriously through exhaustion and mourning. Then he gradually calmed down until he fell into a deep sleep.

The doctor sighed and wiped away his own tears that had started at the same time as his friend's, and that he had not tried to stop. He readjusted the IVs and scanned Jim’s body for the third time. His fever was still high from a mild viral infection after several weeks in the cold and fatigue undernourishment. Jim would be off for a few days and stay in bed.

When he left the room, the doctor was not surprised to find Spock standing and waiting with arched eyebrows.

“How is he?”

“Exhausted and cold, but fine.”

“Has he been able to express his sorrow?”

“I guess, yes.” McCoy smiled, thinking of his friend's relaxed face as he left the room.

“And were you able to express yours?”

The doctor jumped slightly, not at all prepared for this question, much less for Spock to say it. He was sometimes pleasantly surprised by the well-hidden sensitivity of his Vulcan friend. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed it.

“You are about to cry.”

“Damned be your insight, Mister Spock,” the doctor growled, a little annoyed.

“Humans all must cry at one time or another to get better, doctor. I do not understand why you put a manly bulwark in front of this natural mechanism.”

Bones laughed. “Wouldn't you find it embarrassing for me to break down in tears right now in your arms?”

He expected Spock to answer him, "Vulcans don't know the gene, doctor." Instead he replied, in his usual relaxed and serene tone, “If that makes you feel better, no.”

Such compassion was so strange that it almost seemed out of place. Leonard burst out into a frank laugh that turned without realizing it into a flood of tears. Tears of his own sadness this time, not empathy or guilt. Sadness he didn't think he had. Maybe he was also a little in love with Edith after all. And that the Vulcan understood it well before him.

Spock, moreover, did not pretend to leave, contenting himself to stay by his side until McCoy’s tears turned back into laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” the first officer asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, Mister Spock, because I’m thinking of the absurd spectacle we would have made if someone had been there. The ship's doctor weeping like a baby in front of a motionless Vulcan and their captain's closed door.”

Spock coughed and McCoy would swear to anyone who wanted to hear it that he was blushing.

“Well, you're not a hopeless case,” he said with a smirk, patting him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Spock.”

Then he turned on his heel towards the infirmary without hearing the relieved sigh of his alien friend.

#star trek sickfic #sickfic #TOS sickfic #sick kirk #panicked kirk #emotional hurt/comfort #physical hurt/comfort #emeto #tw emeto #tw panic attack

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deepdarkdelights · 4 years

Text

The Darkness of The Night (Namjoon x Reader)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Yandere, Stalking, Obsession, Blood, Gore, Non-Consensual touching (Reader is asleep, nothing innately sexual occurs)

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

Preview: He was in a deep, bottomless love. His sweet angel, stained in his blood was a sight that he was blessed to see. He never wanted to live again if it meant he couldn’t have her and if he couldn’t have the delirium she gave him. They were connected now, he had never felt closer to anyone in his life, he couldn’t even think about ever being near someone else if she wasn’t his. What began so innocently evolved into something dark and twisted: the creation of a monster.

A/N: Hello! This will be the first post I am making to my brand new blog! Please be gentle with me, I have not written and uploaded something to any platform in around four years now I believe. Despite saying that, I am open to constructive criticism and would love to see what anyone thinks about this (if it gets seen lmao) and make changes to my writing where you see fit! Thank you for giving me a chance and reading my work, I hope to see you in the comments!

“She’s so beautiful.” He thought to himself. And she truly was. But, her beauty did not reside in her looks as much as it resided in her pain. He found her pain to be achingly beautiful. She was so desperately calling out for someone to love her, for someone to answer the sweet calls of her anguish and recognize it’s melody. To him, he was the only one that could respond. He was the only one that was worthy of her presence and her pain, even if just barely. Because, to him, she was an angel. An angel shackled by her agony and trapped on earth, waiting.

It all started innocently enough. It first began with his longing gaze and fleeting moments between them. Merely passing her in the hallways on campus was enough to give him a rush, flooding his body in ecstasy. She was a drug, something that starts in small doses but quickly becomes not nearly enough. Her very being demanded his attention, demanded that he see her and crave her.

Her.

What was once a simple word now represented his incapability of even breathing without thinking about her.

The first time he saw her, she was alone and she was crying. Unbeknownst to him, at the time, this was simply one of many breakdowns that had occurred that week. His angel was so frail, so hurt, and so unbelievably scared. What he would give to stop those tears, to hold her close, and to never allow anyone to hurt her ever again. But he was him, and she was her. He was so…awkward. How could someone like her ever even give him the time of day? He had nothing to offer her, nothing to help her. But how long could he hold out, how long could he stop himself from taking things too far? The answer was not long.

Seeing her in the hallways proved to not be enough. This developed into him working in admissions just so he could find her class schedule, to know where she was at all times of the day. And that quickly evolved into him dropping his classes to be with her.

Academic Writing 112, she sat in the far right of the seventh row with a seat left unoccupied next to her. It didn’t stay that way for long, and at the time that was the boldest move he had made: sitting next to her. His body vibrated with anxiety as the chair scrapped against the flooring, his backpack thudding loudly beside him. Her head jerked slightly at the noise, her eyes flicking quickly to him and back to the front of the room as she raised her hand to settle over her mouth.

“She looked at me.” He thought, his heart pounding in response. God, her eyes were perfect. They were deep and frightened, but so perfect. Those fleeting moments were what he lived for, just being next to her felt like a privilege. What he would give just to have her look at him, and him only, forever with those gorgeous eyes.

No words were passed between them. He was too awkward, and she was in too much pain.

The next step he took were the pictures. Everywhere she went, he took pictures. He had all different kinds of pictures, some were of her studying, some of her crying, some of her undressing, and some of her sleeping. His phone’s gallery quickly became devoted to her, she was everywhere he went because he followed her wherever she went. To him, these pictures were meant to help, to alleviate the ache that was deeply rooted in his chest whenever he couldn’t see her. But if anything, the ache deepened and formed a wound that festered as his sick love grew.

His beautiful angel that didn’t notice him made him sicker and sicker as each day passed. And as he grew sicker, her pain became torture. Everywhere she went, she felt eyes following her. There was an inescapable force constantly following her, constantly letting her know her downfall was being spectated. This constant spiral downwards was being watched no matter where she attempted to escape to.

Time stretched on and soon the pictures just weren’t enough. He needed her, he needed more of her. It wasn’t long before he began breaking into her apartment. He sacrificed not seeing her, so he could have pieces of her. The fire-escape led directly to her room and the broken air conditioning resulted in an unlocked and open window. It wasn’t hard for him to prevent traces of his presence. He carefully removed his shoes before entering, so that no prints would alert his angel of his being there. His first action was always directed to her bed. He would press himself against her sheets and inhale lungfuls of her scent, rubbing his face against her pillows like a cat. Shivers would wrack his body as his fists clenched the sheets beneath him. She was intoxicating, she was his drug, his angel.

His next course of action was her hamper. He only permitted himself to take one item per month, it was less suspicious that way but also rather difficult. Last month, he had taken her sleep shirt. It was baggy and smelled like her. When he slept in his own bed he would hold it tightly to him, picturing it was her, that she was there with him like she should be. This month, he took what he had held out on for so long, her panties. His cheeks were stained red as he carefully removed the used pair from her hamper.

“Fuck.” He whispered, his hands trembling as he quickly pocketed the item. He couldn’t get too distracted now, he only had so much time.

Each visit was becoming riskier, he was sure she noticed the missing articles of clothing, even if he had limited himself. It was only a matter of time before she found him out, or before she contacted someone and put an end to his visits. And he couldn’t have that, this was his way of being close to her, of being with her.

He knew what he was doing was wrong, because God, it was beyond fucked up. But he needed her. He needed her more than air, more than anything else in his life. He would gladly drop to his knees and kiss the fucking ground she walked upon if she asked him with those beautiful, pained eyes of hers.

And from there, things only got worse. Soon enough, he was watching her sleep nearly every night. He would follow the same procedure as he did with his daytime visits, but this time veiled in the darkness of the night. If she was beautiful in the daytime, she was damn near ethereal in the dark. Her perfect lips parted as her chest rose and fell with relaxed breaths, her hair sprawled around her on her pillows in a halo, like an angel. His angel. The scooped neck of her shirt revealed her smooth collarbones and shining skin, the moonlight highlighting her face perfectly. She was so tempting, and so painfully unaware of her intruder. He inched closer to her bed, fingers delicately brushing her sheets as he itched to caress the skin of her face and the gentle slope of her neck. Would she wake up if he touched her? Would those plush lips part in a scream and those deep eyes widen in fear?

Did he want that?

A soft huff of air left her lips as she wriggled in her sleep, his body tensing in fear that she would wake. He kept still and quiet for a few moments, making sure that she was still submerged in a deep sleep. The silence rang in his ears as he watched her settle down, relaxing into the warmth of her covers. He quietly stepped closer, observing her sweet sleeping face once more. He gently rested a hand on the bed and lowered himself down next to her, the mattress dipping under his weight. She didn’t move, only her chest continued its steady rise and fall with each breath she took. He slowly reached a hand out and gently caressed her cheek, pulling her hair away from her face. His hand still rested as light as a feather on her face, his thumb gently swiping back and forth over the smooth stretch of skin. He hadn’t realized before, but now he noticed just how close his face rested beside hers.

“What would she do if I kissed her?” He wondered, his fingers still stroking her face yet just barely touching her as to not rouse her from her slumber.

“One kiss wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?” He mused, leaning in even closer to her. And then he kissed her, so lightly it was like a breeze brushing over her. His fingers paused their ministrations as his eyes slipped closed, leaning into the inviting warmth of her soft lips. It was like heaven. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, threatening to crash straight through his rib-cage as his lips moved ever so softly against her still ones. What happened in mere seconds felt like the meeting of heaven and hell, his sweet, broken angel lying blissfully unaware beneath him. He swiftly pulled back, his breaths coming out in sharp and fast pants. His angel still slept, unaware of the intruder by her side.

She was addictive and undoubtedly his.

The next day, she never showed up to class. The seat to his right was empty, a stark reminder of her absence. She wasn’t in the library, or at the coffee shop where she spent her time after classes. So, she had to be at home. Could he risk visiting her while she was awake? Would he be able to sneak in without her noticing, or would he have to come up with a different approach, one that would be wildly different in comparison to all the actions he had taken up to this point?

That was how he found himself at her front door instead of her window. He took a deep breath and shook himself out, his trembling fist hesitating before it finally connected with the wood of the flimsy door. At first, he was met with silence. And then he could hear her. She was stumbling through her apartment, making her way to the door, making her way to him.

“Who - who’s there?” She croaked, her voice rough and dry like she had just been crying. Had his angel been crying again? Of course he fucking missed it.

“Hello?” She called again after the stretch of silence.

“(Y/N)? It’s Namjoon, from academic writing.” He replied, his voice far calmer than he actually felt. He was finally talking to her.

There was silence for a moment and then the clattering of metal before the door opened, it was wide enough for him to see her eyes and nose, but the rest of her was obscured from his sight. He felt a tug of disappointment in his gut at only being able to see so little of her.

“What do you want?” She asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took him in.

“You weren’t in class today so I grabbed what you missed. I figured I’d bring it to you so you wouldn't fall behind.” He replied, his heartbeat quickening, this was the most they had ever spoken to one another in all the time he had known her.

She blinked slowly as silence settled between them. After a few moments she slammed the door completely shut, undoing the door chain before opening it fully. She was breathtaking. Her hair was slightly mussed from sleep and her eyes were puffy with deep bruises settled beneath them. The shirt she wore was two sizes too big and wrinkled, hanging limply off one of her shoulders. Her lips looked cracked and dry, like she was dehydrated or maybe even sick. But she was stunning to him.

“Well?” She said, shaking her head slightly. “Where is it?”

“Oh! Oh, right…” He trailed off, jerking his bag off of his shoulder and removing the requested items, handing them off to her. Not once did she move from behind the door frame, staying in the darkness of her apartment. Not one light was on and not one curtain was open. It was practically night in the depths of her home. Her delicate hands, he noticed, were gripping the door tightly, the skin stretching painfully across her knuckles like she was anchoring herself down.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” He asked, his gaze giving her a once over again. There was a beat of silence before she responded.

“Go home, Namjoon.” And then the door was slammed shut once more.

He didn’t listen to her.

When the sun had set and the moon hung high in the dead of the night, he found himself at her apartment again. This time, he was where he was comfortable: settled outside her cracked open window and removing his shoes. He needed to make up for the time he had lost with her that day. Speaking to her was exhilarating, it gave him almost as much of a rush when he kissed her. But still, he needed more of her.

He slid inside her room again, finding his footing expertly before creeping towards her once more. She was still as gorgeous as she had been when he saw her earlier, her face no longer pinched in agitation but smooth and relaxed in the throes of sleep. He settled beside her, as he did often, and set to caressing her hair as she slumbered on. It was unfair how beautiful she was, how perfect she was every time he saw her. What he would give to be here with her, always soothing her as she slept. He could only hope that one day he could be next to her when she woke, that she would want him to be there with her, that she would want him. What would it take for her to be his completely? To surrender to him as he had to her?

That fantasy crumbled as fast as it had come to his mind. It had happened so quickly and so unexpectedly, a crash from the alley outside echoing through the open window into her room. She jerked awake, her breathing quick and confused as she propped herself up on her elbows. His heart stopped as her eyes met his in the dark. With a screech she threw herself from the bed, falling to her back on the ground.

“(Y/N)?!” He cried, rising from his place and running to her side as she struggled to stand.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” She yelled, shakily standing as she stepped backwards, watching him while trying to find the door, her hand cupped over her nose and mouth. Had she hurt herself?

“(Y/N), sweetheart, please calm down! You don’t understand!” He cried, as he launched himself forward, grasping her wrists in an attempt to stop her from leaving.

“Don’t! Don’t touch me!” She yelled, violently thrashing against his hold as he pulled her into his chest, pinning her against him. Her breathing was labored and fast as she continued to struggle.

“Baby, please, I’m not here to hurt you! I love you so much, I would never hurt you!” He persisted, muscles tensing with strain as he attempted to keep her close to him, to force her to listen. “Please, I need you to listen to me! It’s okay!”

“You fucking perv! Let go of me before I can’t stop it!” She groaned, her head dropping causing her forehead to brush against his chest, his heart beating louder and faster than before.

“I’m not - I’m not a perv, don’t say that.” He begged, his eyes welling up with tears as his grip tightened even more around her. “I’m here because I was protecting you, you’re so precious to me I just can’t stand the thought of you being alone, here, without me.”

Her head was slightly rocking back and forth, her breaths even and paced as her body shuddered under his touch. She remained silent as he continued, his words blurring into static in her ears as his heartbeat pounded in her head. The steady, rhythmic beats vibrated in her ears and skull.

Her mouth watered.

She was hungry, so fucking hungry.

“Baby? Are you listening?” He whispered to her, cupping her cheeks to lift her face from his chest to meet his gaze. In a matter of seconds she had him pinned, his body forced down onto the mattress as she straddled his waist. The confusion plastered on his face quickly contorted to pain as she yanked his head to the side, her jaw snapping down and locking on his neck, blood rushing forth, hot and thick running down her throat. She moaned in delight as he shivered in pain beneath her. He groaned deeply as his hands came up to rest on her hips, pulling her tighter against him, relishing in the pain she was giving him, her pain that she was giving him. She continued to feed from him, unbothered by the soft strokes of his hands over her hips, encouraging her to continue.

He was in shock, he was in pain, and he was also in a deep, bottomless love. His sweet angel, stained in his blood was a sight that he was blessed to see. He never wanted to live again if it meant he couldn’t have her and if he couldn’t have the delirium she gave him. They were connected now, he had never felt closer to anyone in his life, he couldn’t even think about ever being near someone else if she wasn’t his.

Her body squirmed above him, groaning deeply as she sunk her teeth into his flesh even harder, forcing the blood to pool into her waiting mouth. His hands continued to softly stroke the exposed skin of her hips, relishing in the closeness of their bodies. He must be so sick to be enjoying this, to accept this so easily. But if he was sick he hoped there was no cure.

Her jaw finally relaxed allowing her sharp incisors to slip free from his throat. Soft pants left her body as her head rested in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. She felt like she was drunk, a soft purr like noise rumbling in her chest as she laid limply on top of him, spiraling in her high.

He was tired, his body heavy like lead. Still, he raised his hands to settle on her back and softly rub circles into her skin. He knew he had lost far too much blood, his vision was already beginning to blur, black spots starting to obstruct his view of his angel. If only he could stay awake forever so that he never had to live for a moment without seeing her. Her body rose from his, her delicate hands grasping his shoulders to allow her to sit upright on his hips. The sight of her was euphoria inducing. Blood stained her sweet lips and rolled down the smooth column of her neck, coming to rest at her decolletage. Her hair was as wild as her doe-like eyes, shining with tears that began to slowly run a path down the slope of her cheeks.

“Namjoon?” She whispered. She seemed confused, like a fog lifted that had previously clouded her memory. One of her hands shakily raised to her face, dragging through the fresh blood that painted her skin. She slowly brought her hand into the moonlight, revealing the shining, scarlet blood.

“What happened? What - what did I do?!” She cried, her bloody hands curling around his shirt to shake him, attempting to keep him awake and responsive.

His eyes were now feeling as heavy as his body, it was difficult to keep them open but he so desperately wanted to see his sweet angel, glowing red in the soft light. His eyes fluttered as he tried to stay awake, fighting the fatigue that was washing over him, but he couldn’t fight his own body. Slowly, his eyes drifted shut, his lashes coming to rest delicately on the crests of his cheeks. He could still hear her and feel her, her cries were loud and her body shook with violent sobs as she tried to keep him with her.

And as he drifted, all he could think was: “She’s so beautiful.”

#bts #bts namjoon #bts x reader #namjoon #kim namjoon #rm #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #rm x reader #yandere #yandere bts #yandere namjoon #bts fanfic #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere kpop #yandere bts x reader

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spookyboywhump · 3 years

Text

OKAY, here’s a follow up to This, basically what Wren is doing throughout Zander’s torture. This was going to be longer but it got way too long and so I’ve split it into two parts, the second part will be posted likely later tonight

A brief disclaimer because I feel it’s necessary in this case where it’s a very intimate whumper and Wren. My rule for my ace OC’s is that if it’s not something he’d willingly do with a partner of his own, I’m not going to let a whumper do it to him, so while there is creepiness from Nicholas’ end and a noncon kiss, that’s a far as it goes.

Clement and Cathal who are briefly mentioned belong to @ihaventwritteninsolong uwu

CW: Noncon kiss, (non-sexual) noncon touching, pet whump, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, very brief nsfw mention (from Wren), humiliation

***

Wren began to panic as soon as Zander was dragged out of the room, the last thing he wanted was to be separated from him while they were with Nicholas. At first he just sat frozen in place, but when he heard Zander yelling he felt like he needed a way out. He frantically glanced around the room, hoping to find somewhere to run or hide, but the fear of what would happen if he got caught kept him rooted in place for too long. He had gotten up, he had started to make his way out of the room, only to run directly into Nicholas, his hair and clothes damp from the rain outside.

“Where do you think you’re going, love?” He asked, an amused smile on his face.

“I-I… I just…” He murmured, backing away from him. His heart was racing, all he could think of was how much he wanted to get away from him. “I-I wanted to see Zander…”

“You can see him tomorrow.” He said, stepping closer to him.

“Is-Is he okay…?”

“Oh he’s fine, you don’t need to worry.” He said, though that only made Wren worry more. Nicholas draped an arm around his shoulders and began to lead him away, Wren having no choice but to follow. He almost would’ve rather been with Zander, no matter the circumstances, at least he wouldn’t have felt as though he were walking towards his own death as Nicholas brought him upstairs. He was led to a bedroom, Wren assumed it was Nicholas’, and the door was shut behind them. He wanted to stay close to the door, hoping Nicholas would step away long enough he could get out, but he stayed close by, guiding Wren away from the door. He saw Nicholas set something down on top of the dresser, a familiar dark leather collar.

“Is that Zander’s?” He asked without even thinking.

“It is. I didn’t want it to get messed up in the rain.” He said casually.

“N-No, wait, he needs that…” He started hesitantly, and Nicholas laughed.

“You dogs and your collars, you’re all very strange.” He said, and Wren went tense as Nicholas began to fidget with his collar. “First Clement’s adorable puppy, then that mutt, are you the same? Are you as attached to your collar as they are?” He asked, and Wren almost regretted the relief he felt as it was removed.

“N-no, I don’t… I don’t like it but… I-I don’t think we’re supposed to-to take them off…” He murmured.

“Don’t worry about that, Cain won’t mind if I do it. Besides, I have a gift for you.” He told him. He couldn’t help but think he didn’t like the sound of that as he watched him walk across the room, opening the drawer to his bedside table and grabbing something before coming back. He turned Wren around so he faced the mirror above the dresser, draping something around his throat without fastening it, simply showing it off. This collar was more decorative, made of a soft blue velvety material, a small bow on the front of it. Were it something he’d seen in a store he might’ve actually liked it, he liked the color and he liked cute things, but with Nicholas holding it there, calling it a gift, he hated it.

“I-I don’t think Cain will let you change my collar... He likes for me-for me and Zander to match.” He said, trying to keep his voice steady, even as Nicholas fastened the collar behind his neck. “Not to mention, it’s- uh, it’s kind of ridiculous f-for a fighting dog.”

“You aren’t a fighter though, now are you?” Nicholas said, resting his hands on his shoulders and continuing before Wren could point out he most definitely was. “I mean- just look at you. I love my darling but he doesn’t always make the best decisions, he’s wasting a perfectly good lap dog by subjecting you to those fights.”

“I signed up to fight, it was my choice...” He told him.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to be particularly smart.” He said, affectionately squeezing his shoulders. Wren wanted to hit him. “If Cain listens to me, you won’t have to endure such brutality much longer. You have such a pretty face, Love, and once all this tacky dye is washed out you’ll be perfect.” He said, reaching one hand up to brush through his hair.

“Cain likes my red hair...” He said, his stomach in knots at the thought of losing his hair color.

“Cain will do whatever I ask of him, he’s very sweet like that. If I can convince him to spare you from fighting I think I can convince him to change your hair color.” He laughed. “You’re such a pretty boy, you have a pretty face and beautiful eyes, your freckles are adorable and you’re so small, you remind me of my last pet. You shouldn’t be fighting, you belong on your knees, spoiled and loved.” He told him, his words making Wren sicker and sicker.

“I don’t… I’m…” He was at a loss for words, unsure of how to make him back off. He was tense as Nicholas turned him around to face him, his back pressed against the edge of the dresser. Nicholas was too close for comfort, one hand rested on the dresser to keep Wren pinned there and the other tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet Nicholas’ eyes.

“You’re not like that mutt outside, you’re something special.” He said, leaning down closer to him, and Wren wanted to snap at him to not talk about Zander that way. “My Love, you deserve so much more.” He said, and Wren quickly picked up on what he planned to do, closing his eyes in preparation.

He knew what he was going to do before Nicholas’ lips met his, bringing forth an uncomfortable memory of his first kiss, blindfolded and awkward and uncomfortable as Zander was forced to kiss him. He put up with a lot from the people who owned them, from Cain’s verbal harassment and violent attacks to Vanessa’s uncomfortable comments and lingering touches, he could tolerate all that. This though, this was different, and he knew if he didn’t want it to get worse he needed to stop it now. He let the kiss last only seconds before he swiftly and suddenly bit down on Nicholas’ lip.

He tasted blood before Nicholas quickly jerked back from him, shocked and swearing as he brought his hand to his mouth. Wren was quick to duck away from him, putting some distance between the two of them, his hands clenched into fists and a scowl on his face.

“You’re lucky I don’t have fangs like Zander, I would’ve torn your fucking lip off.” He snarled, shaking with anger and fear. It took all his courage to speak to him like that, all his courage to not apologize and cower away from him, just this once, he was going to stand up for himself.

“You fucking brat!” Nicholas snapped, Wren was unable to get away when he suddenly grabbed him by the front of his shirt, jerking him forward and slamming his fist into his face. He hit him once, twice, three times before letting go, letting him fall to his knees with his hands covering his nose, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I knew you weren’t smart but I didn’t think you’d do something that fucking stupid!” He yelled at him. “What the fuck has gotten into you?!”

“I’m not stupid!” He snapped at him. “I’m not stupid and I’m- I’m not going to let you do this to me, I’m not your toy, I’m not going to let you fuck me you absolute creep!” He forced himself to his feet, glaring at Nicholas despite the tears in his eyes and the blood from his nose and mouth.

“Oh, you don’t need to let me do anything.” He sneered, grabbing him by the arm and holding him in place. “I always get what I want, and there is nothing you can do to change that, little one.”

“Really? Because I know my master.” He said seriously. “I know him, and I know he wouldn’t like that. You think he doesn’t talk about you? You think he hasn’t outright said he’d drop your ass if he found out you were fucking with any pets- especially one of his own!” Half of what he said was made up, exaggerating the only bit of information he had from Zander, who once offhandedly mentioned that Cain wouldn’t let Nicholas do anything like that. Nicholas seemed to take it seriously though, his eyes widened and Wren couldn’t help but feel satisfied, seeing he broke through his smug facade.

“You little bitch.” He hissed, suddenly shoving Wren to the floor. “Now I know why he keeps you quiet all the time, you’re a terribly annoying thing.” He said, moving around him, Wren having to turn to watch him step into the closet. He was worried about what method of punishment he’d choose for him, but he didn’t come back with a belt or a whip or a crop, instead he had something else in his hands. Wren tried to get to his feet but Nicholas kicked him down, digging his knee into his back to hold him there.

“Open up.” He ordered, reaching around to roughly grip Wren’s face, digging his fingers into his jaw to force him to open his mouth wide. “Since you want something to bite on so bad, this should suit you just fine.” A ball was shoved between his teeth, pushed into place and then secured as Nicholas tightened the straps behind his head. It hurt, he was unnecessarily rough and it was already making his jaw ache, making him desperate for relief. His arms were wrenched behind his back, Nicholas secured them with metal handcuffs, different than the leather ones Cain often used, before getting off him, grabbing him by the hair and dragging him up, forcing Wren to stumble after him.

He hadn’t realized that what he thought was a nightstand beside the bed was in fact a cage until he was being forced into it, Nicholas pushing and kicking at him until he was curled up inside, the door slammed and locked. He knelt down, peering in at him through the slots.

“Remember, this is your own fault, love.” He said, barely containing his anger. “You could’ve been treated so nicely tonight but you chose to misbehave. I hope you’re happy with your decision.” He said, and Wren sincerely wished he wasn’t gagged only so he could assure him he was very happy with his decision.

He couldn’t relax until Nicholas stormed out of the room, and even then it was difficult. The cage was small and cramped, forcing him to keep his knees pulled up to his chest. It was hard to breathe with a bloody nose and a ball shoved in his mouth, and much to his embarrassment he couldn’t stop himself from drooling, saliva running down his chin, further making him uncomfortable. He’d be surprised if he got any sleep at all that night, but despite all this, despite the pain and discomfort, he found that the only thing he regretted was not biting Nicholas harder

#whump #my writing #my oc’s #wren #Nicholas #noncon kiss #noncon touching #pet whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #I love this when #I love when wren gets angry #imagine the euphoria of /him/ having leverage over /Nicholas/#delightful I love it #not tagging the tag list cuz this one is kinda squicky and on the line

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camilieroart · 3 years

Text

Testimony of a French person during the pandemic.

I’m the french person. This testimony is featuring my school’s pressure and a lowering mental state.

I have been quarantined at home since March 2020. I have gone out maximum 20 times, always being really careful. For me and others.

I have a constant source of informations on what is going on in France and the world, and this causes a big flow of anxiety. I spent the entire summer vacation in my house, working on my project and being really productive. I didn’t see anyone, didn’t go anywhere. Just me, my parents and our two cats.

My classmates, however, aren’t as worried nor careful as me, and most importantly not as informed or free to act as they wish. So, they have gone out, and been to beaches and seen people, like the government said. Because yes, as soon as the summer vacation started, the French government declared that the virus was gone and that everyone had to go out and pay for stuffs, and spend money, to “keep the economy rolling”. Of course the Covid was still there.

As the start of the school year was closing in and that people in France had been getting sicker and sicker due to the craziness of the summer holiday, we thought that they would cancel, or at least push back the day. But no.

Around that time, I had also lost my uncle and my grand-mother (not due to the coronavirus), and the pressure of staying home this long, and having constant awful news about outside and how there wasn’t a glimpse of hope was having terrible effect to my mental state.

As back to school day arrived, we had made the decision to not send me back, although the government had said it was “mandatory”. However, I have worked hard all my life to get a diploma and go to a good college and have a degree, and I wasn’t giving up yet. So, we lied. Well, not really. We said we had to bury my grandmother and it was true. So I didn’t come the first week. The second, I catched a cold, and couldn’t make it due to the coughing. The third, I had a stomach ache...

My mother hates lying. She loathes it. It was incredibly hard for her to do so. But she did because if I went, I would probably kill my other grandma and maybe kill my parents. And have scars for life. And contaminate strangers.

What about my classmates, you ask ? They all went. I was the only one, of my whole class, to not have gone back. And boy, was I glad I did. I kept talking to my friends, and I heard how the teachers didn’t respect the safety distances nor put the masks correctly. I heard how in the cafeteria they were all sitting at the same table, pressed against eachothers without a mask. At that time, I already had heard horrible things and how poorly it was handled.

One week, as she had one of the CPE (head of the supervisors) on the phone, my mom had the first breakdown I have seen her have in years. She started crying and explained everything. She cried, and argumented and I was so shocked to see her like this. The truth was out ! I didn’t go to school because the safety stuffs the government put in place was bullshit.

We expected me to be kicked out in the following minutes. But, they couldn’t. I had been giving back all the homeworks and assignments I could, showing I wasn’t quitting. So, they couldn’t kick me out for being a quitter, and they couldn’t kick me out for trying to keep myself, my family and them safe. So they didn’t. Instead, they tried to push me into resigning.

At that point, it had been 5 months since I had really gotten out for something else than groceries. I hadn’t seen anyone, friends or even acquaintances for months. The school and news had been horribly stressing me out, and I had my first breakdown. Around a day after, we had a call from the school’s nurse. She asked me if I was okay, how I was doing, if I was sick... And that I should really go back to school. It’s senior year after all. I told her I heard they handled it badly. She called nonsense and stupid rumors, telling me lies that I immediatly understood were lies, selling bullshit and trying to force me to come back. I was very polite, made her understand that I would be trying if the situation got better, and hung up. It took us a minute to understand that she was trying to get evidence of me being kept home against my will and called social services. She didn’t call for my health at all. Thankfully, I handled it very well and we never heard back from her.

Not long after that incident, I heard of something that happened in my school that made me mad beyond understanding. Since the interns at the boarding school were forbidden from going out, the school decided to put a movie for them Wednesday afternoon. They said they asked students about what they would like to see but I highly doubt it. So, that Wednesday afternoon, when my classmates, seniors in highschool, with TONS of homework they had been working on where called in the auditorium for “informations” they had no choice but to go. The informations were given, and they were about to leave to resume working when the CPE and the deputy director stopped them.

They said my classmates HAD to see this movie, it was mandatory. Let me insist on the fact that they were around a hundred, all in a closed space, in the middle of a pandemic. Yes ? Great. So, my friends protested, saying that they had to work and didn’t want to stay. The deputy director started cutting them off to keep repeating some bullshit like “we made that for you” “we listenned and gave you this” “we worked hard on this”, like 5th graders. Until they said “I’m your superior and I order you to stay. Now shut up and take a sit”. My friends were astonished but did as asked. Which was incredibly unsafe and even dangerous (closed space, no safety distances...). And that movie that was “for the students” and “they worked hard on” was a goddamn movie about the Shoah. And I SWEAR TO GOD, there was panic attacks in the room, breakdowns, terrible reactions, and they didn’t give two shit about it.

And a day or so before, the nursed called to say I had to go back because it was “safe and everything was ok”. I was boiling.

After that incident, one of my teachers requested a call with me to talk about the class I had been missing. Very aware of the manipulative state of my school at that time, we were really careful, and a bit worried about it. Turned out it was a call of a genuine teacher that actually wanted to talk about the classes I had been missing and the homeworks I had been giving ! Of course he quickly tried to get convince me to come back, but I handled it well, once again. It was the highlight of my day.

At that point it had been 8 months since I had last been really out.

I had severals other breakdowns, mostly due to the ungodly stress I had been under because of school and news. I had been stressed out for 8 months now, and what had to happen, happened.

I had a burn out.

My mental state was so low I couldn’t even do what I love. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t draw. All I could do was watch shows and movies, or stare at the ceiling for hours. This was incredibly frustrating and scary. I couldn’t do my homeworks, and we feared I might get kicked out.

Then a miracle happened. Which is sad it got to that, but it was one. My teacher got quarantined, and started online classes. I had my first class of the year on November 14th. And I was there ! I answered tons of questions, and it kind of shocked everyone in class to realize I existed and was still trying to follow the classes.

It allowed to get better, and keep a very small following of school.

A week ago I have been able to do my Spanish homework. I am slowly getting better, trying to avoid stress and work as much as I can.

What I haven’t been able to talk about but did happen :

-One of my classmates caught the virus and she realized it a week later. The school said it was useless to quarantine her now and let her go back to class. The first thing she did was take off her mask and lean in everyone she was talking to. -I haven’t got any of my art classes since the beginning of the year. My teachers made the class believe they were giving it to me when they didn’t. I am specialized in art. -One of my classmates have been diagnosticated with depression. We’re 17. Several others have depression tendencies. -The school is trying to ignore us by not responding to anything we send, hoping we’ll resign. The pressure is still there. -We learned recently that many other parents and students had done the same thing and the schools have put pressure on them too. Some threatened the family. We hadn’t hear about it until now because schools are covering it up -Schools are covering numbers even inside. Most teachers doesn’t even know if a kid has Covid or not. If the teachers get sick, they are forced to immediatly go back to school.

This has been written the 22 november of 2020, in France.

Linked to this post

#history #testimony #true #pandemic #france #france handling the pandemic #covid-19 #coronavirus #school #situation

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